Watchman! Watchman! Alert!
by Jupiler Renard
Summary: An Account of the Most Perilous and Unprecedented Struggles of the Devoted Watchman, Last Soldier of the Light, Will Stanton, in his Eternal Warring with the Insatiable Dark as the Grounds of Confrontation are shifted to a New Dimension.
1. Whole New World

Disclaimer

None of the characters or places in the following story belong to me. They belong to their respective authors, Susan Cooper and Tamora Pierce.

This is a fan fiction about what happens next to Will Stanton at the end of The Dark Is Rising Sequence, and crosses into the Song Of The Lioness series. I tried to change each of the series as little as possible.

I was browsing through other Dark Is Rising fanfictions the other day, last Tuesday actually, and I read another Dark Is Rising/Song Of The Lioness by author norah-hunt. She's a good author but I think it's important to mention that I did not copy her work as I had already had my idea in mind before to reading her story.

Chapter 1

Will Stanton had grown accustomed to not constantly be watching over his shoulder for signs of an uprising now that the Dark had been vanquished. He didn't have to worry about the world being thrown into chaos, or about his family and friends being targeted by his enemies. He had no more enemies to worry about. Except the usual bullies that a seventeen-year-old boy is liable to encounter at school.

Will had turned seventeen recently, and today – a Saturday – he was due to take his driving test. The past year Will had been learning to drive in his father's old manual, and he couldn't wait to get his license that afternoon.

However, it was that day, a week after his seventeenth birthday, that Will felt a stirring in the Balance. It lasted for only a moment, but after years of equilibrium the smallest ripple set Will on edge and brought the Old One to the surface.

Logically, there could be no reason for the blip in balance. The Dark had been defeated, and the Light had left the world of Man. So there was no explanation. This worried Will more than anything and made him even more determined to discover the source of the imbalance.

Pulling on a coat over his shirt Will raced out of the house in search of whatever it was that had caused the disturbance he had felt. He realised he was leaving his village behind as he crossed a field and found himself in the forest. It was quiet among the trees, but Will wasn't fooled by the tranquillity. He knew what he had felt, and the Old One trusted himself more than anything else.

And then he could hear voices, not far ahead of him, and he knew he was no longer in the wood by his home. He was somewhere else entirely. At the ends of the earth? He could only guess.

"Master, if I could just have a little more power – just a little … it would make my task so much easier …" a quiet, almost sly, voice pleaded.

"Task?" a second voice, barely distinguishable as feminine, barked with laughter, "It is your destiny, it is no task. It is your life."

"And yet, it serves your purposes, does it not? And what if one of your enemies should come to me? Would I have the strength to match his? For surely he will crush me otherwise … and your plans also …"

"There will be no enemy of mine to watch for, only the enemies you make for yourself in your world. And in your world, have I not already made you matchless?"

"Yes my master … I should not have questioned you, forgive me … you have given me so much and what you ask in return is so little … for you, the Dark shall rise in Tortall. Do not doubt me."

_The Dark!_ Will Stanton had heard enough. His body flared with bright shining Light as the Old One rose from his niche in Will's soul and shook away the dust of the years he had been buried under.

As he stepped out into the clearing, the creature of the Dark spun, almost as if she had been stung, and the man knelt before her shrieked as the Light burned his eyes. The creature of the Dark ignored her servant and stared.

"Well, so you are Will Stanton," said the Dark at last, "what brings you to this wood, darkest wood of your world?"

"Let's not prolong this meeting with insincere niceties. You are banished from here. Be gone, for you may not trouble this world again. Your time here was ended."

The woman-creature of the Dark nodded in acknowledgement. "Aye, the Six ended the time of the Dark in this world. But there are other worlds, Will Stanton, that you do not watch."

With that, the Dark and her snivelling servant departed in a billowing of black smoke. Will Stanton stood transfixed, shimmering with a brightness equalling that of the sword Eirias. Other worlds? He knew of those. They were not his concern. Only this world, this earth, was his to watch. And yet… was he not the Watchman, last of the Old Ones? Was it not his sacred duty to the Light to stamp out the Dark wherever it might foster?

"I am glad you came to that conclusion, Watchman of the Light, else I could not have bridged the gap between our worlds, even in this crossing-place, where the barriers are so thin." Said a voice, light and musical and unearthly.

Will blinked, and saw a black-skinned man in golden armour standing in front of him. Will could tell straightaway that he was not an ordinary man, as he had known that the creature of the Dark was not an ordinary woman.

"Friend." Will Stanton knew he was in the presence of a Lord of Light from the impression his aura left in the air around him and despite himself, he was awed.

"I am Mithros, a so-called god of the world of Tortall."

"You are not quite a god, and your world stands under threat of dominion of the Dark."

"Very intuitive. The world from which I come is under direct threat of conquest, and I can do nothing, placed as I am as half-god and bound by the law of the High Magic."

"Nor can the Dark do anything, directly," guessed Will, "the High Magic is just."

Mithros nodded. "The Dark has influenced certain individuals to do its bidding."

"By the code of the Light, you can use no such bribery or enchantment on the innocent yourself."

"I cannot. So here is my appeal to you."

"Your world is not mine."

"And yet you feel responsible, Watchman." Mithros reminded him gently.

"I know none of the customs, none of the languages. None of the people. What chance would there be for me?" Will asked.

Mithros regarded him for a moment. "You know those discrepancies between our worlds would not hinder you. Yet there is one thing you do not know that would delay your progress. The gods of my world are very familiar with certain people. In particular, the one they call the Goddess – the Lady of the High Magic – she has distributed powers of the High Magic to some of the people as birth Gifts, to do with as they will."

"Incredible." It was mind-blowing. There were ordinary people with god-like powers just walking around? And that was normal?

"Perhaps," agreed Mithros, "everything else, I believe, is much the same. And I can give you no help that you cannot already give yourself."

Will grinned. "I would not expect it."

Mithros smiled back good-naturedly, "Then you will go? Your mission is to prevent the rising of the Dark in the world, and to accomplish it you must find the agents of the Dark, and defeat them. There are no artefacts that might tip the balance in your favour."

Will Stanton inclined his head. "That is my purpose. But what would be the consequences of this … venture?"

Mithros shrugged, "If you defeat the Dark, you will be returned to the exact moment and place that you left. If you fail?" He let the implications hang between them.

Will squared his shoulders, "If I fail there will be nothing for me here. I shall not fail. Only, before I go, tell me – who was that servant of the Dark? Who can I trust to help me? Am I alone?"

"No," Mithros assured him. "That man, servant of Rissena of the Dark, was Duke Roger of Conté, currently of Corus. A powerful sorcerer in his world, and cousin to King Roald of Tortall. Still, there is one who hates him with destructive energy, a girl, Gifted by the High Magic, who masquerades as a squire. She is Alanna of Trebond. I will arrange a meeting for you."

Will frowned, "Squire?"

"A person soon to be made a knight." Mithros supplied easily.

"Excuse me?"

"You have no knights here?" asked Mithros in surprise.

"Once, hundreds of years ago." Will told him.

Mithros raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Then our worlds are not as alike as I supposed. Your time is much more advanced."

"It will make no difference," said Will after a moment's thought, "I have seen the history of man unfold, I have existed as long as time itself. As have you."

Mithros smiled. "Then go Old One, and succeed."

Will nodded, feeling his shoulders sag a little from the burden he had just accepted. He had not felt such a weight of responsibility since last he had fought the Dark. He recalled every memory of that frantic time. It was necessary that he remember the ways of the Dark, so that he stood that much more prepared to face it again in this new conflict.

"I am ready." _Prepare yourself, Roger of Conté. Be afraid, Rissena of the Dark. I come for you._

Moments later there was a flash of brilliance, and Will found himself tumbling into an abyss of nothingness, the ground having vanished inexplicably from beneath his feet. He stretched out his arms on either side of him, but felt no walls. He could not see, his eyes blinded by the brightness of the light. But he was not afraid. His life had been given new cause. A new world awaited him. The part of Will Stanton inside the mind of the Old One was thrilled.


	2. Watchman Undercover

Chapter 2

Out of the all-enveloping light appeared another forest, similar to the one Will had just left. Will found himself zooming into it, until he was in the thick of trees. He knew he had not yet arrived at his destination, for the forest was strangely silent, and he knew he was in a dreamscape, a place neither living nor dead that simply existed between planes.

He supposed it was a resting place between worlds, for him to collect his shaken thoughts and consider his main priorities on entering the world of Tortall. Will had just seated himself on a fallen tree trunk when his sharp ears picked up the smallest of sounds – the crackling of a leaf as it was trodden on. He was not alone.

And then he recalled Mithros saying he would arrange a meeting between him and his only ally. Gazing into the shadows of the forest, Will waited.

A pair of violet eyes appeared right in front of him, greeting him, and out of the air itself a young red-haired woman materialised. She, like himself, Will realised, was wearing non-descript clothing – nothing that could be pinpointed as to belonging to a certain make or time, nothing memorable. He put this out of his mind. Mithros had sent him here on purpose to meet this woman. He must make the most of his time with her.

"What's going on?" asked Alanna dazedly, "I could have sworn I was just lying down to sleep."

"Please don't be alarmed," Will said, keeping his voice friendly and unthreatening, "no harm will come to you."

Alanna, seeing him suddenly, sized him up and snorted disdainfully. "I don't doubt it," she told him, "muscles like yours couldn't hurt a fly."

Will chose to ignore the insult, and continued, "You are Alanna of Trebond, squire at Corus?"

"How did you know that?" Alanna asked sharply, wary of this stranger who knew more about her than she did about him.

"It's not important. What is important is Duke Roger of Conté, and the way you intend to deal with him."

"_What?_" Now Alanna was becoming really apprehensive. This might be a dream, but all dreams had their limits. This was scaring her.

"I'm here to help you fight him." Will explained, calming some of Alanna's fears. "I'm on your side."

"You're one of the few then," Alanna said bitterly.

"You're lying low at the moment in that case, are you?"

"Waiting for proof of his crimes. No one will believe me on my word alone. And why should they? They know Duke Roger and they trust him. He's the last person anyone would ever suspect."

"Right. Well I'm going to kickstart the fireworks. Speed up the waiting process."

"You my guardian angel, are you? Thanks but no thanks, I can manage on my own. I don't need my dreams obsessing about Duke Roger."

"I'm more than a dream." Will said seriously, "and I will bring about the fall of Duke Roger. I'll knock over the first domino."

Alanna sniffed, "You sound pretty confident about that. Do you have a strong Gift, then?"

"I don't know about gifts, but I have Mithros on my side. Won't that be enough?"

"Mithros, is it? Are you a wizard then?" inquired Alanna half in awe, half in disregard. He was barely a man. He would have to be more talented than her brother Thomas to be that great a wizard.

"I don't think I'm a wizard," Will said, and wondered what counted for a wizard in Alanna's world.

Alanna frowned in confusion, "Then how are we talking? There's no way I'm capable of summoning you. What are you?" Maybe he really was her guardian angel. But she'd been joking when she said that.

"Just a person. A helpful person."

"Is that so? So where are we going from here, helpful person? Are you just going to pop up in my chamber? You'd scare the daylights out of Jonathan, let me tell you."

Will shrugged, "I'll go wherever Mithros sends me."

"You have a lot of faith in the gods."

"Some more than others."

That made Alanna laugh. "I'm glad you said that." Then, "listen, if you really are against Duke Roger, then I'm glad to have an ally. To be honest with you, it was getting to look pretty bleak on my own."

"Good." Will said, feeling the ground beneath his feet start to dissipate. "Then we're agreed. Incidentally, try not to forget this dream when you wake up, and remember my face, coz sooner or later I'm going to turn up. In your chamber or elsewhere."

"Hey! Hold on!" yelled Alanna, feeling herself begin to wake up even as Will found himself once more freefalling through nothingness, "I don't know your name! How do I keep from forgetting? And what in the Goddess's name is our plan?"

-

Alanna woke up. Prince Jonathan, her knight-master, was shaking her gently.

"Are you alright? You were shouting in your sleep," he looked at her tenderly. Alanna imagined that that was the way he looked at Lady Delia, the object of the Prince's affections. "I was worried."

Alanna pushed him away, in front of her a vision of the dark-haired young man she had spent the night with. He had been so serious, so calm. He'd said he would help her – but how could he help her? Barely out of boyhood, skinny and sinewy, like any beggar-boy you saw on the street – until the beholder beheld his eyes, his aged and ageless eyes. And he had been so sure, that talking to him had made her certain he could change things. Now, in the light of day, the dream was escaping her. She was forgetting the words they had exchanged, only the feelings staying with her, reminding her.

She got out of bed and sighed. It had only been a dream. She would never see the nameless young man again.

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Prince Jonathan gently, fishing for information, "did you have a bad dream?" and her cat Faithful, sitting on the bed where Alanna had been lying, echoed his concern.

"Fine, I'm fine," Alanna said, absently, her mind still on the young man of her dream. "What time is it?"

"Time to eat," Prince Jonathan said finally, not at all reassured. "Get dressed. I'll see you later on."

He opened the door to leave, and hesitated, then looked back at her intently. "You know you can tell me anything, don't you? If anything's bothering you? You don't have to keep anything secret from me."

Alanna stared at him bemusedly as he left. She sighed again. _If only that were true_, she thought, _but you won't hear anything against Duke Roger, so how do you expect me to confide in you?_

She turned to Faithful. "Would you stop that?" she asked uncomfortably, "you're looking at me like – I don't know – I've done something I shouldn't have."

_Have you?_ The cat asked, casting her a meaningful stare.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Don't be ridiculous. Anyway, it's stupid to read too much into dreams. Myles says they're figments of the subconscious mind, or something like that. And even if there were any truth to this one – well, I don't have time to analyse it. I'm going to be late."

Alanna rushed out of her chamber, away from Faithful's accusing eyes.

-

Elsewhere in the palace, Duke Roger of Conté stood in front of a mirror, his throbbing eyes closed. Taking a deep inward breath he put the pain in his eyes out of his mind and focused on sending his Gift to heal the scorched retinas. He sighed as the throbbing eased, and sat down in an armchair by the window, massaging his eyes.

Who had that been? He knew of no one who had ever challenged his master so fearlessly – he himself was terrified. His master, she had powers worthy of a goddess. Duke Roger would never dare question her. But that creature had. Was it even human? It had sounded human, but its voice had been the voice of an ancient – surely the creature should be dead? Surely it was some terrible demon, who by sorcery had attained immortality? But no. Duke Roger doubted this. What demon would shine so brightly? The sun didn't hurt Duke Roger's eyes as much as looking once on that creature had. And beyond that brilliant aura, had he not seen the outline of a man? Another god who had taken on mortal flesh?

Duke Roger was confused, and more than that, he was afraid. His master had said she had no enemies. She had said that no one would stand against her, and he had believed her, for he could not imagine anything or anyone with the strength and courage to oppose her. What man was this then, who he had seen amid the light? What powers did he possess? And more importantly, would he come after Duke Roger now that he had seen him consorting with the Dark? Could Duke Roger stand up to him if he did? It seemed, given that his master had treated the man as an equal, that Duke Roger would not be able to best him in a duel.

What could he do then? Demand more power from his master? His master had refused the last time he had had the audacity to do so. But what if the man had followed him into Tortall? Would not then the success of his master's plan be threatened?

Duke Roger relaxed in his armchair, resolved that he would become more powerful. And maybe the lovely Lady Delia would come by later. She was always very sympathetic, always ready to soothe his troubled mind.

-

Will opened his eyes blearily. The air tasted different, not polluted with exhaust fumes, and made unaccustomedly crisp by the scent of a nearby sea. Will rolled over, groaning quietly. He was so hungry.

A group of people walked past him, and he heard one of them remark;

"Isn't he a bit young t' be stoned?"

"Apparently not," commented someone else, and the group laughed, moving off, talking noisily.

_Stoned?_ Wondered Will dazedly. Not him. He rose groggily to his feet and wandered down the street, towards the harbour. _To business, and the Dark._

It was bustling with people and everywhere he looked there were stalls. Will wished he didn't feel so hungry, all this food was tantalising him. Will realised he had left his world with a lot less information about this one than he had thought at the time. He had no money, he didn't even know what the currency was. He had no status, and no contacts. He had nothing. Will couldn't believe he'd been so thoughtless. _This isn't a holiday. I'm supposed to be working. I don't even know where I am. It doesn't matter, I just have to find the Dark. Then I can go home. Yeah. Get this over and done with fast._

And he was so hungry as well. He had to get something to eat. _Can't I just get a bite to eat and then start exterminating the Dark? I can't even think properly. _After an hour of sauntering around the stalls and their wares and getting nowhere Will decided it would be in the best interests of the Light for him to steal himself a meal. This thought in mind, he sidled up to a likely-looking set of stalls.

Moments later he was carrying a loaf of brown bread, two apples and a packet of biscuits. He'd almost been caught at the fruit stall, and had had to use his powers to make the vendor forget what he'd seen.

Will was just making his way away from the market when someone fell into step with him.

"That was some neat shop-liftin'," laughed the girl beside Will.

He kept walking at a steady pace, determined not to betray his shock. _How did she notice me when no one else did? Why didn't she tell anyone? _"Was it."

"Aye, don't be modest! Not even Lightfingers could go from one stall t' another th' way ye did, without gettin' caught."

"Is that so." Will made his voice sound disinterested, even slightly dismissive. _Why didn't she tell the shopkeepers what I was doing? She can't be on my side! Who is she?_

"Hey-up sweetheart, why're ye actin' so cold?" she asked curiously, flicking a strand of black hair out of her eyes, "It's not like I'm about t' give ye away! The prices are unreal, I don't blame ye. We gotta live, all of us, don't we? Who are ye, anyway?"

"Will Stanton." Will noticed she was carrying flowers and wondered if that was why she was following him so doggedly. "I'm not buying." He told her firmly.

She stared at him, "Did I ask if ye was buying anythin'? What're ye so tense for?" She put a hand on her shoulder.

He stopped and looked at her squarely. She was laughing again. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"I thought ye were goin' t' jump a mile in th' air when I touched ye! Keep yer hair on, sweetheart, I won't hurt ye, I promise."

"Alright, do me a favour, will you? Tell me where this is. Am I in Corus?"

She stifled another laugh, "If ye're lookin' for th' Rogue, ye won't find him here I'm afraid, sweetheart, this is Port Caynn."

"Who's the Rogue?"

"What? Ye sure ye're alright? It's George Cooper, he's been Rogue for nigh on six years now." The girl was genuinely surprised.

"I'm sorry, I meant, what is the Rogue?" said Will. Now the girl was really worried. She touched his forehead lightly, as though she was feeling for a fever and looked deeply into his blank, unknowing eyes.

"Are ye feelin' alright? Ye want t' go lie down for a while? I'll keep look out, make sure no one mugs ye. I think ye've been out in th' sun a bit too long. Did ye have a lot t' drink last night?"

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me – what did you say your name was?"

"Nell. They call me Laughing Nell, on account of I laugh so much – but that's beside the point, I think ye're sickenin' for somethin', ye can't not know nothin' 'bout th' Rogue."

"Then forget I asked. I'll find out later."

Laughing Nell frowned at him. "Where're ye from?"

"Nowhere." Will said bluntly.

"Everyone comes from somewhere." Laughing Nell said impatiently.

"Somewhere then."

Laughing Nell's brow creased unhappily, why was he being so secretive? Not a spy. No spy would be so blatantly mysterious. Had he lost his memory? Maybe he'd been shipwrecked. What was he wearing anyway? Rags. The rags of a beggar.

"Where're ye goin'?"

"Corus." He told her.

"I'll take ye there, I need t' go there myself," said Laughing Nell decisively, " and anyway, ye'll get lost otherwise. Besides, if by chance ye did know where ye was goin', ye'd take forever about it coz there's no way ye could steal a horse."

Will looked at her. "Of course not."

"No need t' get sarky with me," laughed Nell, glad to be doing something rather than worrying.

Will smiled reluctantly, then started to eat, gesturing to Laughing Nell to help herself if she wanted. "Nah," she told him, "ye look famished. I'm not that hungry."

Laughing Nell got them seats on a cart going into Corus. It was only a three-hour drive, she told Will reassuringly. Will didn't mind, except that the cart went so slowly. He took the time to sleep. It was pointless to ask Laughing Nell questions, she would just think he was crazy. She already thought he had a couple screws loose anyway, and he didn't want to make matters worse than they already were.

However, after the first couple of hours, Laughing Nell broke the silence.

"So," she said, "what do ye want with Corus, if not George Cooper?" she didn't call him by his title, in case the cart-driver was anti-Rogue.

"A job," said Will. "Does the Duke of Conté still live in Corus?"

Laughing Nell nodded, "What, thinkin' of gettin' His Grace t' employ ye? They say he is a good master, though I've heard tell other stories."

Will perked up, "Tell me them. All I know about the Duke is his name. Is he as great a sorcerer as they say?"

Laughing Nell shrugged, "He does practice sorcery, though he is th' Prince's cousin, and second in line t' th' throne. He is still a popular man, still young. But George Cooper don't approve of him."

Will nodded.

"Don't ye want t' know why, sweetheart?" asked Laughing Nell, surprised. Everyone liked the Duke of Conté – wasn't Will the least bit shocked that the Rogue didn't?

"No. His reasons are his own. I am on less than friendly terms with the Duke myself."

"Don't say that so loudly!" Laughing Nell hissed, her eyes wide with fear.

Will was not afraid. His expressionless eyes bore into Laughing Nell's, as he said, very distinctly, "Duke Roger of Conté is quite aware that when I find him I'll…." He stopped suddenly and smiled, his eyes lighting up, "what am I saying? I've never even spoken to the Duke once in my life." He shook his head in disbelief, "and you just a flower-girl. What's gotten into me?"

Laughing Nell didn't say anything. For a moment then his eyes had looked so old – Laughing Nell was nervous. What had he been about to say? That he would kill the Duke? Laughing Nell didn't even notice the insult to her profession.

"Why d'you always call me sweetheart?" Will asked, changing the subject.

Laughing Nell shook herself out of her dark thoughts and laughed, "Why not? D'ye have any objections t' bein' my sweetheart?"

"Only that you're too beautiful, and I'm too young." Will smiled.

"Aw, I'm only nineteen this year! Ye can't be that young, and ye ain't bad-lookin', neither!"

"Seventeen. Last week." Will told her. "I was starting to enjoy myself, too."

"What?" exclaimed Laughing Nell, "and ye ain't enjoyin' yerself now?"

"It's a different kind of fun, this." Will said, "When was travelling with beautiful girls boring?"


	3. On The Run

Chapter 3

They were nearing Corus when a jolt of pain made Will sit bolt upright.

"What is it?" asked Laughing Nell, concerned.

Will glanced around uneasily. _Something's happening. Somewhere, the Dark is happening_. He knew it without thinking. He had an instinct for trouble.

"Can we – could we – detour north a bit?" he asked.

"No." said the cart-driver. He would brook no argument, and Will, annoyed that he had to call on his powers again so soon, leapt out of the cart and sped north on foot, calling goodbye to an alarmed Nell.

Will arrived too late, despite the measures he had taken. The man, whoever he had been, was dead. Will reached the scene of the murder just as the culprits were leaving.

Will took in the dead body, curled up on itself as if for protection, and then the ten armoured men. He blinked.

_I'm – I'm sorry._

Will had never seen death up close. He knew of it, and did not fear it, for he could not die. But it shocked him. This man was gone, on a one-way trip to the netherworld. He hadn't had time to say goodbye to anyone. His existence had been brutally extinguished, and all because Will had been too slow to react. The Dark had won this round. Will was diminished. The Old One within him could shrug off the loss, a noble sacrifice, but Will himself, saw and felt only the horror of death. Choiceless, perhaps unnecessary, but certainly choiceless. This man had died, not knowing what forces did battle around him, and he could not come back. Will could see now that the man had been shot in the arm – to stop him escaping? – and then stabbed to death.

_I'm sorry_, thought Will again, this time in farewell, and he could feel the Old One take control even as his thought disappeared into eternity.

The swordsmen had seen Will standing by the body of their victim.

They turned their attention to Will, ready to do away with him with the same ruthless efficiency that had dispatched the other man.

Will took a moment to compose himself and relax into the authority of the Old One. Then, remorse successfully bottled away till a quieter time, he took in the threat the ten armed men posed. They were advancing slowly on him, still no doubt surprised by the way he had appeared so suddenly, and wanting to take no risks.

Will froze time, picked up the body, pointed his hand face-down, all five fingers rigid, at the killers and made them forget ever seeing him. Then he raced back towards where he now knew Corus to be. Five minutes later time unfroze and the swordsmen looked around. They remembered nothing, and later, when Duke Roger examined his men for magical manipulation, he would find no trace of the Old One's power at work.

And all Will could think as he sped, inhumanly fleet-footed, towards Corus, a dead man in his arms, was; _I'm sorry_.

-

Will reached Corus just after nightfall. It was then that he realised how careless he had once again been. He had nowhere to go and if he were found with a murdered man he'd be arrested for sure. His prospects were suddenly looking very bleak.

Will had no idea where to go. But he had to go somewhere. He had to deposit the man's corpse somewhere too. Why hadn't he left the corpse? _Because it felt wrong. Because it's my fault. Because I'm so stupid, so slow. And now it's too late to do anything about it._

Seeing an inn, Will put down the body of the man he was carrying, checking him for identification, though the breach of privacy repelled him. _Like he's not even human, like he's baggage, just because, because he's dead._ His name was Jamie Bone. Will blinked a couple of times, lying the body in a narrow cul-de-sac, thinking fervent, prayer-like apologies for having to abandon him. Then Will clamped down on any renegade emotions and, putting the man out of his mind, entered the Dancing Dove. He tried to be cheerful, and even managed a small, false smile to match the jovial mood of the inn.

"Good evening, I was wondering if there were any jobs you needed doing in exchange for a pint."

"No money at all?" asked the barman.

"Skint. Sorry."

"No jobs here."

"Alright. Thanks." He turned to leave, then remembered suddenly what he had meant to ask. "By the way, did you happen to know a man called Jamie Bone?"

The barman frowned. "Who's that ye say?"

"Ja–"

"Hey-up Will, sweetheart!" Will whipped around.

"Nell?"

Laughing Nell bounded up and flung her arms around him, "Where've ye been? Scared me half t' death when ye jumped out of th' cart and left!"

Then Laughing Nell drew back and saw his face, momentarily surprised out of its put-on cheer. "What is it?"

"I wasn't fast enough." Will told her quietly. Desolate. "I got there too late."

"Will," she said seriously, "what's happened? Tell me."

"His name was Jamie Bone. They murdered him." Will struggled out. Were there stones in his mouth? His tongue was leaden. His lips didn't belong to him anymore, didn't work properly, kept stumbling and catching on words.

"What?! Jamie? Dead?" Laughing Nell's face paled. "Right, we're goin' t' see George. C'mon sweetheart."

Will followed Laughing Nell numbly up the stairs, where she knocked on a door, waited for a few seconds, then went in without waiting to be invited.

"Majesty," she said, and the man who had been at the window looking out into the street turned around. Seeing the man, Will understood by his bearing and by the way Laughing Nell had deferred to him, that George Cooper, the Rogue of Tortall, was what passed for a King of Thieves.

"Hey, Nell! What brings ye here?" the Rogue smiled. He might have reprimanded her for entering without his telling her to, but then he saw the visitor, and the Rogue decided to act relaxed and at ease till he found out what was going on. Nell wouldn't interrupt his quiet time if it weren't for a good reason.

"This is Will Stanton. He found Jamie Bone's body– where'd ye find him again, sweetheart?" she turned to Will.

"North-ish of Corus. Maybe five miles out." It was hard to think about Jamie Bone, especially now that Will knew his name. It was like attaching a personality to the body, and it made Will ache even worse inside, knowing it had been a _real_ man, and not some faceless soldier, to be commended and forgotten.

The Rogue's face tightened. "That's not very helpful, I'm afraid. Jamie was a good man, and his family'll want his body."

"I brought his body with me." Will said, "I left him outside." Must they talk about Jamie Bone still? Were there no other topics worthy of discussion? It was so hard. Will couldn't endure it, the aching, the loss, even though their lives had never touched, and they had never exchanged words or even glances. But Will felt intensely connected to dead Jamie Bone, and he could feel a little piece of himself dying, as though to accompany Jamie's soul.

"Ye brought Jamie's body? How'd ye carry him so far? And how'd ye get him into th' city? I thought ye didn't have any money on ye, so ye couldn't have bribed th' guards." Nell, worried as she was for Will, was beginning to suspect that he was more than he let on. And if he was a threat to the Rogue, she couldn't protect him.

"They didn't see me." Will said, unwilling to tell them that he had used his powers to conceal his package. He couldn't take this interrogation on top of the hurting inside of him anymore. Consciously he let the Old One take control so he, Will, could try to cleanse the stain from his soul.

The Rogue squinted at him as though he had felt the impossible new awareness awaken and strengthen Will. "Ye have th' Gift." He said.

"I have no Gift." Will replied.

"Well I can't sense yer thoughts so ye must have it. Unless someone else is shieldin' ye with their Gift."

"Why did the Duke of Conté have Jamie Bone killed?" asked Will, abruptly changing the subject.

Two sets of eyes homed in on him instantly. _Oops. I guess that wasn't so subtle. _Will thought. But his thoughts weren't really in the room.

"What's it t' ye?" demanded the Rogue.

"Nothing." Will realised he'd said too much.

"Ye can tell us, whatever it is, ye can trust George and me." Nell told him quietly, and Will saw her fingering the blade of a knife she'd had concealed in her blouse. "Or George'll have t' kill ye. Which would be stupid if ye're on our side, and I know ye are."

"What proof could I give you?" asked Will, a little defensively, "anything I can say, you can counter. Anything I say could be a lie."

"Swear yer loyalty t' me – on yer life," the Rogue said finally, "then I won't regret killin' ye if ye prove false."

"There's only one person in Corus I'll swear that kind of oath to." Will replied, "and I've never met her properly."

The Rogue snorted. "Oh aye? And do ye know her name?"

"Maybe you know her. But I won't betray her secret to you. Only her name; Alanna, and her fief, Trebond."

"Ye're – ye're Alanna's friend?" asked the Rogue, and now his eyes were wide, "how d'ye know? She's never mentioned ye–"

"I've never really met her," repeated Will, "but I'll know her when I see her." _And it's good to know you're in love with her._

"Leave us for a bit, Nell," said the Rogue, his eyes never leaving Will's face, "Will Stanton and I have a few things t' discuss in private."

"See you later," Will smiled sombrely at her. _But only when I understand why you would have killed me on the Rogue's whim._

Nell rolled her eyes, "Ye _better_ see me later, sweetheart," she winked at Will, all previous aggression forgotten, "don't ye dare leave without sayin' a proper goodbye t' me this time."

The door closed silently and Will turned back to the Rogue, who was pouring him out a drink and beckoning him to sit down at the table with him.

"What d'ye know about Alanna, seein' as ye haven't even met her?" asked the Rogue after Will had taken a sip of the alcohol.

"What do you know?" asked Will.

The Rogue bit his lip. "Well, I'm hedgin' a guess here, but do ye know she lives up at th' palace?"

"And is a squire?"

The Rogue nodded to himself, "All right, all right, just checkin'. So ye really are on her side. Just remember t' always call her Alan."

Will didn't bother to acknowledge this. He was still raw from Jamie's death and couldn't quite get his mind round the change of subject. So he asked, bluntly, "Who else knows?"

"I know, my old mum knows, Prince Jonathan, she's his squire by th' way, I dunno how up-to-date ye are–"

"Very out-dated, I guess," interjected Will.

"I think Sir Myles knows, and obviously her brother Thom knows but he's in the City of the Gods studyin' sorcery, otherwise that's it."

"And explain to me what Jamie Bone had to do with any of this," said Will finally, though it had taken him a while to bring himself to ask.

"Jamie? Oh Goddess – I'll have t' send someone t' take his body home! Jamie was takin' a message from Alanna t' her brother, he's th' second t' die like that. There shan't be a third." The glint in the Rogue's eye made Will certain he would keep this promise, "and where d'ye figure into all this?"

"I'm not sure."

"I want a more definitive answer than that, Will Stanton."

"I suppose I'll mostly be helping and protecting Alanna. And when it's time … Mithros knows what will happen then."

"Is that all th' answer I'm goin' t' get?"

Will shrugged, "Until things become clearer to me."

"Where will ye go?"

"To the palace, get a job of sorts, get my head in the game. It'll be difficult keeping a step ahead of the Duke. But I'll manage."

"Will ye indeed?"

"I cannot fail." Will finished his drink and rose. The Rogue, staring after him, was left under the distinct impression that Will Stanton had been speaking of weightier matters.

The Rogue went to the door. "Marek! 'Fingers! Follow him – make sure anythin' and everythin' he does is reported back t' me." The two men crept down the stairs obediently.

"I don't trust ye, Will Stanton," muttered the Rogue to himself as he watched the two thieves go.

Downstairs, Will introduced himself to a few of the members of the Court of the Rogue and sat back with a pint of bitter, watching Laughing Nell flirt. Distancing himself from his sorrows.

He left when he finished his pint.

He was halfway down the street when he heard a pattering of footsteps coming up behind him. He didn't slow as Laughing Nell caught up to him.

"Hey-up, sweetheart, don't walk so fast!"

"Don't call me that."

"What's up with ye now? Ye said ye'd say goodbye."

"I couldn't be arsed."

Nell stopped short. "Ye're drunk." She said coldly.

"You would have killed me."

"Is that what this is about? C'mon sweetheart that's just business, it didn't mean nothin' – look, ye know I wouldn't have really let George kill ye, don't ye?"

"You had your knife out. You were going to kill me."

"Don't be a fag. I didn't touch ye, did I? Didn't go anywhere near ye."

"You went near a whole lot of other men though. I didn't realise before. You're a prostitute. And I actually believed you were just a flower-girl."

"That ain't fair, Will, I don't like those men, do I? It's my job. Just a job. I need t' make a livin', don't I?"

"You're in luck then. There're two of your Court following me. I don't suppose you were going to tell me till they slit my throat, were you?"

"Bugger." Nell sighed. "Alright, ye're right, I'm a bad person. What d'ye want me t' do about it?"

"I don't want you to do anything. I didn't ask you to watch out for me." _I'm the Watchman. I don't need to be watched. Especially not by you_.

"Look, ye don't have anywhere t' stay. Ye might be a little nicer."

"I'll find somewhere. I don't need you."

"Goddess, ye're so shallow!" said Nell, all of a sudden turned scornful, "Ye liked me well enough till ye found out I was in th' Court of th' Rogue. Not good enough for ye anymore, am I?"

"Forgive me for not trusting someone who had no qualms about killing me less than an hour ago."

"Will, sweetheart, please! Ye can trust me. I trust ye."

He turned around to look at her.

"Then maybe you shouldn't." Will was tired of their conversation. At this rate, Nell would never leave him alone.

Time froze, and stretching out his hands, fingers rigid, in the direction of Lightfingers and Marek, Will knocked them out. Then he walked away, not sure where he was headed, only sure that he must go to the palace and find lodgings there.

Will eventually found Palace Way, and following it, slipped through the city gate, making his way through the buildings till he came to the palace itself. Beside the palace stood the stable. Will entered, breathed deeply, and unfroze time. The Old One relinquished his hold on Will so he could realise how tired he was, and sink into a more appropriate time of mourning for the departed Jamie Bone.

Curling up in the loft of the stables on top of a bale of hay, Will was certain he wouldn't be found till morning.


	4. Making A Mark

Chapter 4

"Mornin', lad!" said a cheerful voice at Will's ear. He jerked into wakefulness, his head aching dully.

"Hey. Who're you? Am I still in the palace?"

"Stefan, royal hostler, pleased t' make yer acquaintance, and yep these're th' palace stables ye find yerself in."

"Will Stanton." Will was tired and in no mood for more of the previous day's trials. While he should have slept, his thoughts had been with Jamie Bone on the border of the netherworld, trying desperately to let go of his guilt.

"So ye _are_ th' one George wants! What ye done t' raise his ire?" Stefan was impossibly wide-awake and full of an early-morning bounciness.

Will shrugged. "I dunno. Guess I just know too much, and he doesn't trust me. You part of the Court of the Rogue, too? Seeing as you know my name already."

"Yep, we're all on high-alert. Apparently ye just disappeared yester-night, right in front of Laughing Nell as well, and left two of his Lordship's most trusted out cold. They don't remember nothin', neither."

Will laughed. "I've made a mess out of things."

"I'll say so. Ye're on th' Rogue's most wanted list, that means everyone'll be out lookin' for ye – ye can't do anythin' anywhere in Tortall without it gettin' back t' George one way or another." Stefan grinned.

"You got round to letting him know I'm here yet?" asked Will.

"Oh aye, _ages_ ago, soon as I saw ye here when I came in round dawn-time I thought t' myself, there's a likely lad. Ye fit th' description too."

"Fantastic." Will could feel his heart sinking.

"Innit just, and my messenger-birds're th' fastest in Corus too."

Will laughed, though he had never heard anything less funny. "Well then, my hours are numbered." He stood up.

"Where ye off t'?" asked Stefan as Will made his way down from the loft. "Hungry at all? I can fix ye somethin' up if ye want."

"Lovely." Will told him, forcefully dragging himself out of his bad mood. "Be back in an hour or two, yeah? Excellent."

"Hey!" yelled Stefan, laughing, "I'm not yer servant!"

"But I've only got one day at most to live, haven't I? Wouldn't hurt you to prepare a dying man's last meal!"

"I hate ye fatalistic types!" grumbled Stefan loudly enough for Will to hear him.

"You're the worst liar I ever heard!" rejoined Will.

Before Stefan could think of a suitable response, Will was out of earshot and he resigned himself to wheedling a second breakfast out of the cooks in the palace kitchens.

Will had the misfortune of bumping into Aram Sklaw on his way into the palace and was marched swiftly out into the courtyard.

"Who do you think you are?" demanded the one-eyed head of the Palace Guard, "waltzing into His Majesty the King of Tortall's palace as if it were your own! Out, you miserable beggar!"

Will looked Captain Aram up and down, thinking fast. "So give me a sword then, and I'll duel you for the right to enter."

Captain Aram glowered disdainfully at him. "Ha! And is that a challenge? If you could beat me, you'd be–" Captain Aram struggled for words to express what he was feeling.

"Worthy of an apprenticeship? I guess you're a swordsman of some skill, if you're prepared to make that claim. Either that, or you are one of the more dishonourable men I have ever had the pleasure to meet." Will sketched a bow. "I am Will Stanton, and I challenge you to a duel."

Captain Aram was spitting with fury. "You dare speak like that to me?! I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget! Arm yourself!"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't have a weapon."

"Prince Jonathan!" bellowed Captain Aram at a young black-haired man who happened to be passing, "Your sword, Highness!"

"What's happening, Captain Sklaw? Do you truly intend to duel this boy? He is a street urchin, you can see by his clothes. He is not worth your anger."

"A little unprecedented, perhaps, but my honour is on this duel, no matter how poor a swordsman this fool turns out to be."

"Will you not fight in one of the fencing galleries? There are people here who find the art of the sword … distasteful."

The Prince gave Will his sword. Will knew he was being reckless. He'd known as soon as he'd seen Aram Sklaw that he must be a swordsman of some renown. Will would have to call on his powers to stand a chance of matching Captain Aram, because match him he must in order to secure his apprenticeship. That apprenticeship was his life insurance. While under Captain Aram's wing, George Cooper wouldn't touch him. Or so Will hoped.

Making their way to the first of the palace fencing galleries, Will felt the weight and balance of the sword. He had no doubt that he would be able to handle it. But he had to be prepared for all possibilities. Was there a flaw in the blade? No, not as far as he could tell. It had been forged by a master-smith.

"No armour or padding will be necessary." Captain Aram told the crowd that had begun to gather. Will saw the Prince frown unhappily, and sensed the Prince's fear for him. He smiled grimly. Prince Jonathan's fear was unfounded. Will Stanton could not lose this match.

"Alright," said a servingman Will would later learn was called Timon, "A clean, fair match–"

"No." said Captain Aram. "A duel. Just a duel. No code of chivalry or of conduct. A messy duel. I'm no knight, and this beggar won't know the meaning of honour. The victor is the man who kills the lesser swordsman, or takes pity on him."

"As you wish," Will agreed, fearlessly.

Timon frowned. "This is unorthodox – but if you both agree – begin on my count. Three … Two … One … Guard!"

Aram Sklaw was fast, incredibly fast, and he thought even faster, strategies forming and re-forming in his mind. Will saw all this in an instant and was glad he had missed breakfast, for the prospect of such a duel might have made him puke. As it was, when Captain Aram struck, Will was there, blocking, parrying, turning just in time to meet the next lightning thrust and back in time to catch the rebound.

The spectators had never seen such a display of skill, and were awed into unbiased silence, mesmerised. Captain Aram had never been pushed to such limits before. He glared at the young man before him, impressed despite himself. Where had a beggar learned to be so fast with a sword? Where had he learnt such grace? Captain Aram had thought he was unparalleled. Will Stanton made him think again.

It came to Captain Aram as he fought, that perhaps Will was not a beggar; was perhaps the abandoned son of a knight-errant, or the bastard of a Shang master. There were too many perhapses and rather than let his mind wander further, Captain Aram just concentrated harder on beating this upstart newcomer. He could feel sweat beading along his body. How did the boy stay so cool and tireless? Was he a _god_? Captain Aram was incredulous, and now that he was too exhausted to be angry, his respect for the young man grew a thousand-fold.

Watching with other spectators ringed around the fencing gallery Prince Jonathan's eyes were bulging out of his head.

"This is unbelievable!" he gaped, "who is that boy? Incredible! Alan what are you looking so pale for? Look at that! The skill! Are you sickening for something? How're either of them going to win? Goddess, Alan, go find Duke Baird, you're going to make me ill! Did you _see_ that!? What pace! Where did a beggar learn to fight like that?!"

Alanna had immediately recognised the boy from her dream. He looked a little more ragged in real-life, but he had the same air about him, the same calmness in the face of adversity. She felt sick to her stomach with nerves. Captain Aram meant to kill him. There was no way the boy could keep going like that. Captain Aram was a master swordsman, while the boy was just – skinny. Ordinary.

Every time Captain Aram brought his sword around, ready to ram into the boy's neck, Alanna was sure he wouldn't be fast enough to counter it, and yet counter them he did. Alanna, who considered herself a good swordsman, couldn't understand it. The boy didn't have the build. Where were his muscles? But his footing was perfect, he never tripped, never paused, his mind was in the game, he didn't falter, surely he must be tiring? But no. No sign of sweat. Maybe he was as unearthly as he had seemed in the dream. But there he was in front of her. She wasn't hallucinating – other people could see him too – she gasped, that time Captain Aram had been so close, the boy should have been caught on Captain Aram's sword-tip, but in the last second he had twisted away, like a dancer, making his own attack on Captain Aram.

Alanna couldn't stand it; he came so close to injury, to death, and each moment was perilous. There could be no mistakes. How could there be no mistakes for so long? But Alanna, spellbound, couldn't tear her gaze away, couldn't move to walk off. She stared so hard there was nothing else in the world but murderous Aram Sklaw and the dancing boy from her dream, fluttering so precariously between sword thrusts. She wondered how he felt. Did he know he must lose? Aram Sklaw was unbeatable. The boy must know. Could she hear someone cheering? Who were they cheering for? The audience around the fencing gallery had rarely been so well entertained.

Down in the fencing gallery, though he was exhausted, it was still too much for Captain Aram to lay down his sword and surrender. That would have been the ultimate dishonour and Captain Aram would have preferred to die than yield. Even if it was to this Will Stanton. Captain Aram could no longer look at him and think of him as a beggar. What potential! If he was this good at his age, how much better could he become? The possibilities were endless.

Will had not had a good night's sleep, but this duel was only just beginning to tax his strength as an Old One. He could see Captain Aram having trouble keeping up with the frenzied pace of the duel. But Will couldn't let up now. He had to prove he was good enough.

Then Captain Aram stumbled. He covered it well, but Will saw through his smooth recovery even if the entranced watchers didn't. He knew it was time to end the duel; honour had been satisfied on both counts. Releasing his powers, Will became Will again, and though he could handle the sword still, he was not so fast or so enduring. In a last wild attack he rushed Aram Sklaw, hacking with too great a force and too little precision to harm. Captain Aram, blinking away unconsciousness as he was, was perfectly capable of fending off Will's attack.

A moment later Prince Jonathan's sword spun out of Will's numb fist and clattered on the ground. Will kept his eyes fixed firmly on Captain Aram's face. He did not kneel. As far as he was concerned, they were equals. It was the same in Captain Aram's mind. The fencing gallery was silent as everyone waited with baited breath to hear what Captain Aram would say.

"There is a place for you in the servants' quarters. Lessons begin tomorrow. An hour before dawn at the smith's. Maybe you can handle a sword, but I'll bet you can't forge one, apprentice."

Now Will bowed carefully, from the waist, till his body was perpendicular. He rose up. "Sir. I am yours to command."

That made Captain Aram smile. "You better learn court manners while you're here, laddie. No one bows like that to a mercenary soldier past his prime."

"You might not believe it, but today you saved my life. I'll bow as low as I can to that man, for as long as I live. Till tomorrow, sir."

Will Stanton left the fencing gallery, leaving half the palace breathless in his wake, and went to get something to eat.

He was sitting with a wide-eyed Stefan at a low kitchen table, stuffing his face, when Prince Jonathan and a group of boys entered. Jonathan came straight to Will when he saw him, and Stefan moved quietly away.

"You honoured my sword today." Prince Jonathan said, "No, don't stand up. I'd be hungry if the first thing I'd done this morning was challenge Captain Aram Sklaw to a duel and live!"

"We were there. We saw the duel. It was exquisite!" Will looked at the boy blankly. He was a lot taller than Will and much more muscular.

"Introduce us, Jon!"

"Right, sorry, this is Sir Raoul of Goldenlake, Sir Gareth the Younger of Naxen, Sir Alexander of Tirragen and Squire Alan of Trebond. You know me already. And you are Will Stanton? I heard the others talking about you."

"Pleased to meet you all, sirs, I'm sure." Will replied, wondering _should I shake their hands? Or do I bow?_ He settled with glancing over them all, his gaze lingering a little longer on Alan than the others. His eyes were violet. And on his shoulder sat a violet-eyed cat. The cat stared at him. _Good morning to you, too_. Will greeted him silently.

The cat stiffened, then unstiffened, like it had been at once alarmed and in the same moment reassured. _Hello, Will Stanton._ Will smiled and looked away, keeping his ears open for any comments the cat might make to Alanna. Then everyone else started talking.

"How were you so fast?" asked Alex enviously, sitting down across from Will. "You're skinny. But as fast as Captain Aram. Tell me how."

Gary and Raoul laughed, "It's in the sinew, sir." Will told him. "And it's a lot about footwork. A bit like dancing sometimes. Or that's how it felt when I fought just now, sir."

Alanna nodded intently. Her heart still beat wildly from the excitement of the duel. She'd been sure Will would be killed, and so afraid for him. She had never in all her years at the palace seen Aram Sklaw so furious. And Will looked like a pushover. He had the body of a beggar. "How did you keep going for so long?"

Will shrugged. "Will? Someone has to last longer. Maybe I just wanted it so badly. The stakes were higher than I expected them to be and I suppose that encouraged me to fight my absolute best." He paused, "not that my best was good enough in the end." He laughed. "I'm just a commoner, though. It would've been weird if it turned out I could beat a man like Aram Sklaw. Brilliant at the same time. But still really weird. Sir." He added.

"You fell apart at the end." Raoul told him frankly.

"I don't have the experience, I'm afraid, sir. Or the skill, really. I got lucky today. I really didn't think I could hold out so long. I wish I could've watched myself, sir."

"I wish I could've been you!" Alanna exclaimed. "Matching Aram Sklaw! Not having to listen to his taunting! Bliss." The others laughed and Will laughed with them.

"Well, I've got to go into Corus–" he began.

"Move your things in?"

"Yeah." Said Will, thankful for the excuse.

"You don't have a horse. I'll take you down on Moonlight," offered Alanna, seizing her opportunity. "It'll be a lot faster, and safer. You never know who's going to pick your pocket."

"Or cut your throat," agreed Will. "I would appreciate that, sir."


	5. Dare To Be True

Chapter 5

"I don't suppose you're in the Court of the Rogue, are you?" asked Alanna a short while after they'd left the palace, and Will realised that this was a time of mutual interrogation. "It's just, a beggar with that kind of skill – George can't not know about you."

"No. To be honest with you I never set foot in Corus till last night, sir."

"That's when you arrived, huh? And stop with the 'sir' would you? You never called me sir before."

Will grinned. "I was wondering if you would remember me."

"I can hardly believe we really met in my dream, even now you're sitting right by me. If you'd left it any longer I think I would have forgotten." Alanna confessed. "I thought I dreamed you. Seeing you in the fencing gallery was – bizarre. More than bizarre. Like seeing an illustration step out of a scroll. Insane."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It's been a pretty hectic two days for me. I wasn't really thinking." They lapsed into amiable silence. Then, "Is going into Corus with me a pretext for you to visit George Cooper?"

"Hey! George Cooper didn't factor into it at all!" Alanna protested, "I admit I didn't think you really needed me to take you into Corus, but I _did_ want the chance to talk to you alone,"

"Well, I need to get clothes worthy of an apprentice swordsman, and I do appreciate the security. If the Rogue sees me with you maybe he won't be so keen to kill me."

"What? George is after you?" demanded Alanna, "he's one of my closest friends – if he's out to get you, you must be dangerous."

"He's just scared of what he doesn't know. And what he doesn't know is how I came to learn that you are a girl-squire called Alanna."

_Now that **is** interesting, _said the cat and Will chuckled.

"You didn't tell your cat?"

"Goddess! How can you understand him? Who _are_ you?" now Alanna was really worried. How could he hear Faithful? No one could! She had never really met Will before in her life and the reality scared her more than the dream.

"It scared the Rogue that I knew so much. And I couldn't give him a very good explanation, nor can I give you one. You know I'm your friend. I am here to destroy Duke Roger of Conté, and when that is accomplished I will go, and it will be as though I had never been." Will told her. "I will guard your secrets with my life, I swear it."

_Will Stanton, for all your mystery, you can be trusted. He will not intentionally hurt you Alanna. This much I do know._ Faithful decided.

"That's some relief, I suppose," said Alanna, still visibly shocked. "Because if you tell anyone, then my career as a woman-knight is over and I might as well pack my bags right now and go home to Trebond and old Coram Smythesson. And don't repeat any of Faithful's and my conversations please."

"Have no fear of that ever happening. I will gladly die before they tear your secrets from my lips."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"As if. You're way too short."

"Shut up!" But Alanna was laughing.

"Anyway, even if I were, which I wasn't, you already have two adequately tall men in your life."

"Oh really. And who might they be?" Alanna asked.

"I'll give you a clue. They're both royalty, of one form or another."

She slapped his arm, stunned that he had perceived the truth so quickly and so accurately.

They were coming into Corus when Moonlight tripped on a half-upturned cobblestone. Will kept his seat, but Alanna, sitting in front, was thrown forward. Faithful yowled, but was helpless to do anything.

Will, quick as a flash, froze time and reached forward to where Alanna hung suspended in mid-air, a metre above the ground, gathering her up in his arms and sitting back. Will unfroze time.

For some minutes Alanna couldn't speak.

"Are you alright?" Will asked.

"What just happened?" Alanna didn't answer his question, barely even registered it.

Will laughed, "I caught you before you fell."

_You saved her life._ Faithful interjected.

"How did you move so fast?" Alanna asked, "and why is Faithful talking to you?"

"Just luck." Will smiled with infuriating innocence. "But now I've got to go find some more suitable clothes than these rags." He stopped Moonlight and set Alanna carefully on the ground before hopping down himself.

"Thank you for bringing me. If I could meet you back here in half an hour that would be great."

Then he was gone, without even waiting for her reply.

"I wonder who he is, really." Alanna wondered out loud.

Faithful looked at her, and his knowledgeable eyes were also at a loss. _Whoever he is, we're lucky he's on our side. And he is. I tried to See into him. But all I Saw was Light. He is blood and flesh, and at the same time not blood and flesh. Something binds him, but it is not something I know. What sorcerer can he be? What Gift does he possess? Where does he come from?_

"What are you saying?" asked Alanna sharply, "That he's not mortal? Or that he's a sorcerer? Does that mean Thom might know him? Will told me he didn't have the Gift, and that he wasn't a wizard. What's he doing in Corus?"

_I don't know._

-

Meanwhile, Will had just found himself a green shirt and a pair of brown breeches. All he needed now was a place to get dressed. Slipping down a side street, away from the bustle of the shops, Will decided this was as good a place as any to change in.

"Want a flower t' put together th' whole ensemble?" asked Laughing Nell, a quiver in her voice betraying her nervousness. Will had been about to pull on his newly-acquired green shirt. Pretending indifference to Nell, he finished dressing before turning to her.

"No, thank you." He told her. "Why do you even bother with the whole flower-girl act anymore?"

"Hey, I need a day-job, don't I?" seeing his dark look she continued quickly, "His Majesty wants t' see ye," she said. "Will ye come with me, or do I have t' make ye come?"

"I'm busy. I'll see the Rogue later."

"Yer friend, th' squire, is with him."

"I know." Will had guessed that that was where Alanna would go.

"Listen, Will, I'm sorry. I didn't want t' hurt ye."

"I know."

"Then why'd ye have t' run off like that? And why'd ye have t' challenge Aram Sklaw th' way ye did? Ye've been barely a step ahead of death ever since I met ye. It's not – it's not safe."

"No. I don't think so either."

"Then come meet George, make yer peace with him," Nell told him seriously.

"If he wants to meet me, it won't be at the Dancing Dove." Will said. "And I don't know anywhere else, so I suppose I'll just have to get by without meeting him at all."

"Ye idiot!" Nell took him by the shoulders and shook him, "George ain't scared of killin'. He's got people everywhere – there's nowhere ye could go–"

"I can manage. Don't worry about me. I don't need you looking out for me. Didn't I tell you that last night?"

"Well I _do_ worry!"

Will blinked, her sincerity momentarily startling him, and took a mental step back, thinking. Here was an ideal foothold for the Light in this world. But could he use Laughing Nell for the purposes of the Light in good conscience?

"Nell. Last night you asked me to give you my trust, but how do I know you won't just abuse it? For all I know, you could be the one to kill me. You would have yesterday, in the name of the man you call king." He hesitated. "But, well, I know you care, in your own way and – and if you ask me to trust you again, I will. Just don't ask if you know you might have to kill me later."

"I won't hurt ye, Will. Ye can trust me. I swear it."

Will grinned. "Good." Then, on the spur of the moment, he leaned forward and kissed her. Slightly surprised when she kissed him back, Will gently stepped away and took her hand in his, wondering what exactly he'd done and what would come of it: He was not often so reckless. "Let's go see the Rogue."

-

Laughing Nell was suddenly much more talkative. During the short walk to the Dancing Dove, just about everything under the sky got a mention and Will learnt a great deal about Tortall.

Still, Will kept his eyes and ears open and he knew straightaway when a man slouching by a stall started tracking them with his eyes.

"That's Marek, George's second-in-command," Laughing Nell informed him cheerfully. "Don't worry 'bout him. He's too scared of ye t' try anythin'."

"Alright." Will had meant it when he said he'd give her his trust.

Together they entered the Dancing Dove, Nell waving a hello to Solom, and ascended the stairs to the Rogue's room.

"George Cooper." Will greeted the Rogue, waving to Alanna who sat opposite him.

"Will Stanton," replied the Rogue warily.

"Hey, Will!" called Alanna, "Well look at you! Where'd you get those clothes?"

"Here and there," Will answered smiling, bending to stroke Faithful, _Well met, cat_.

_Well met, man_. And Will thought that if Faithful could have smiled, he would have been smiling then. Will smiled for him.

Then Will looked up and met the Rogue's crafty eyes.

"You had me followed yesterday."

"Can ye blame me?" responded the Rogue, struggling and failing to keep his voice as even and indifferent as Will's.

"I told you I brought no harm to anyone but Duke Roger."

"Yer word's not enough!" the Rogue was caught in a paradox. He needed proof that Will couldn't give. But he still needed it, and Will still couldn't give it.

"Then nothing else I can give you is enough."

The Rogue changed tack, "What did ye do t' th' two men followin' ye?"

"I stopped them following me." Will said. _Wasn't that obvious?_

"And what're ye doin' in Corus?" the Rogue was persistent, even when he knew that Will would only ever give him unsatisfactory answers.

"All that I can to bring about the downfall of Duke Roger and survive."

"He's telling the truth, George," said Alanna.

The Rogue turned on her, "And how d'ye know? He said himself he had no proof! At least that's what he said t' me. And I can't trust that, not when he's capable of knockin' out two of my men, and matchin' Aram Sklaw."

"He's like Faithful," said Alanna after a pause. "A servant. And when he's done what he was meant to do, he'll go. Isn't that right?"

Will nodded slowly._ A daughter of the High Magic indeed. How perceptive_. "I am a servant. And in this, I will serve you as well as I can."

"Give him a break, Majesty. Ain't nothin' he says will satisfy ye, and it's past lunchtime now." Laughing Nell broke in.

"Aye, we have to go." Alanna agreed, "They'll start missing us at the palace and I don't want another talk with Duke Gareth about responsibility and obligation."

"Don't think this is th' last time we'll be talkin', Will Stanton," the Rogue muttered angrily.

"So long as you don't keep trying to kill me, I'll look forward to it." Said Will, thinking gloomily, _There're others who'll want to have the honour of killing me before long_.

Nell hugged him goodbye, and then Will got on behind Alanna on Moonlight and they sped off back towards the palace.

"Who's that?" asked Alanna, "I've seen her around the Dancing Dove, but never really spoken to her before. How do you know her?"

"Laughing Nell? We met yesterday, in Port Caynn."

"Port Caynn? Is that where you're from? You two looked pretty close to me to only have known each other for a couple of days."

Will laughed. "I suppose. But no, I'm from…" he stopped and thought about this. She wouldn't believe him if he said nowhere. Laughing Nell hadn't. An answer – a godsend, Will was sure, thanking Mithros mentally – came into his head. "South of the Inland Sea, a land further south than Carthak. Its true name was lost long ago."

"Aye?" said Alanna curiously, "I know of no one from there. Nor of anyone who has travelled so far south. What a heritage, though! Your race must be the last of the Old Ones."

"Old Ones?" demanded Will sharply.

"Didn't you know they came up from the south? There's none left now of course, that's why they're called the Old Ones."

"I'm the last of the Old Ones," admitted Will, in quiet amazement.

-

"So Nell," sighed the Rogue once Alanna and Will had left. "How's business? Are Red and yer girls in good health? I haven't seen Red in a while, come t' think of it. What d'ye make of all this?"

"Well, George," Nell considered her next words carefully, "Red's as well as she ever was, and th' girls get by. And business? Business's business. In th' end, it's all th' same. Actually, I'm thinkin' of goin' legitimate," seeing the warning flare in his eyes, she added hastily, "just as an idea, though, y'know, in ten years time I don't want t' be in th' same place I am now."

"What's he done t' ye Nell? Less than forty-eight hours, by th' Goddess!" the Rogue stormed.

"George, relax, won't ye? I dunno what ye're so worried about. I said it's an idea, didn't I?"

"Damn right ye did! And who's plantin' all these ideas? That Will Stanton! Damned Will Stanton, who no one knows anythin' about, got no history, nothin'! Right out of th' blue with not a care in th' world! Changin' things right and left and not a speck of fear! Am I overreactin', Nell? Am I?!"

"Aye, George, ye are." Nell told him, "Will ain't done anythin' for ye t' be wary 'bout. So he breezed in here from out of nowhere. So ye can't blackmail him. So ye ain't got nothin' on him. It's not important. He's no threat t' ye, he don't care 'bout politics–"

"Exactly!" exclaimed the Rogue, pouncing on her words, "He don't care! He don't care 'bout nothin', not even his own life! His hands ain't never held a sword, but he went against Aram Sklaw and for all he knew he might have died! But he still done it! Don't that scare ye th' slightest bit? Don't ye see how dangerous that makes him? He's got nothin' to lose, th' way he talks, th' way he acts."

"So make a use for him. Why ye lettin' him scare ye? Ye didn't see how upset he was when Jamie died. He couldn't kill. It's not in him–"

"That's his charm, is it?" demanded the Rogue, still furious, "coz he seems so good? Let me tell ye Nell if ye ain't already discovered it for yerself; no one's honest all th' way through. No one's pure, same as no one's perfect. Maybe Will Stanton hides it better than most, but he's still human, and his conscience is as defective as th' next man's!"

"Course it is, George," Nell soothed, "sure he steals and lies and hurts. But he's not a killer. He's not corrupt. And I know he thinks I can turn my life round and make an honest livin'."

"And ye'll do anythin' for him." said the Rogue bitterly, "ye and Alan."

"Goddess, George, is this all about Squire Alan?" laughed Nell, "makin' me analyse myself?" the Rogue frowned. "Don't get me wrong, George, I don't want t' pry into yer privacy. I don't even know what ye and Alan were chattin' 'bout but Will just kinda inspires trust. I guess ye wouldn't know. Ye don't trust so easily."

"I'm th' Rogue. My trust has t' be earned." George Cooper muttered darkly.

"Then I'll let him know that's what he's got t' do. And don't ye fret 'bout Squire Alan. If he's with Will, he's safe. Trust me on that one."


	6. Never To Know Peace

Chapter 6

"Alan!" Alanna and Will turned as one to see Myles of Olau waving to them from across the palace courtyard. He'd finished one of his lessons and had gone outside for a short walk.

Sir Myles looked a little peeved to see that Will came with Alanna to talk to him, for he had intended to speak only to Alanna. Will carefully missed the hint, determined to hear whatever Sir Myles would say.

Sir Myles turned his eyes to Alanna, deciding to ignore Will rather than order him away. Sir Myles didn't want to make an enemy out of one of Alanna's friends. The two had been almost inseparable since the day the strange beggar boy had arrived, a week ago now. Sir Myles sighed inwardly, he could understand the attraction for Alanna, she would naturally be interested in anyone who possessed such talent with the sword, especially now that Alex had become so distant. Still, he wished she wouldn't spend so much time with Will Stanton. It wasn't good for her reputation.

"Have you been told about the trip to the coast next week? All the squires are going, and the younger knights will also be going, as guards." _And chaperones_, added Sir Myles silently to himself.

"Aye, Jon told me about it this morning," Alanna replied, bursting with excitement. "I can't wait. The sea's so beautiful."

Will smiled. "Knights and squires on a beach? What're you all going to do? Aren't you s'posed to just fight all the time? You're not meant to have fun."

Alanna cuffed him gently over the head. It was difficult, he was so much taller than she was; "And what would you know about knights? You're just a beggar's brat."

Will shrugged, still smiling, "I know enough."

"Don't you have chores to do?" cut in Sir Myles, his tone unusually sharp, "I don't know many apprentices with free time on their hands."

"Yes sir, you're right of course," Will gave a shallow bow. "See you later, Sir Alan. Maybe we can play chess again tonight?"

Alanna and Sir Myles watched him go with mixed emotions.

"Did you have to do that, Myles?" asked Alanna. "He was just keeping me company."

Sir Myles looked at her. "You have plenty of company. And since when did you start playing chess together? Never mind that. Anyway, he won't be able to come on the trip to the coast, so it would probably be in your interests to start socialising more with your friends. You've been neglecting Jon and Gary and Raoul, you know."

"Aye, Myles, but he's my friend too. Are you sure I couldn't persuade His Grace to let Will come? It can't be much fun here for him, slaving away for Aram Sklaw all day."

"I'm sure." Myles said, and Alanna looked away. Myles was so protective sometimes, it could be stifling.

Will, meanwhile, was making his way back to the barracks, where Aram Sklaw spent his afternoons drilling recruits. Will had entered into a back-breaking schedule of work as Aram's apprentice. Every morning he was at the furnaces, forging and reforging metal into weapons under the watchful eye of the palace smith, Aram Sklaw's companion. Afternoons he joined the recruits, learning how to wield a sword without his powers to help him. In the evening he assisted Aram in training the pages, and absorbed the techniques Aram taught the squires.

Though this taught him a lot about the palace, the journey to knighthood and sword-fighting, it left him worn out at the end of the day and in no condition to investigate the doings of the Dark.

He had also started slipping out of the palace on some nights and going into Corus to meet Laughing Nell. This was strictly against the rules that Aram Sklaw had set out for him, but Will couldn't keep away. He told himself she was a useful source of information in the city, that it kept him up-to-date. He might have fallen into hopelessness otherwise, rather than skirting around the edge of it, which suited him fine.

If the truth were told, his mission grew more futile with every day. He had been in Corus for a week now, and achieved nothing. It tore at him that he had managed so little in so long. But he had no time. He tried to make time, but it was an abuse of his powers and so he did this as little as possible. And he was starting to miss home. Cold, wet and grey England had never seemed so appealing. Yes, he had Alanna and Nell and others here to talk to, but it wasn't the same as family. He couldn't even send his mother a letter.

In a week, he had only caught glimpses of the man he took to be Duke Roger of Conté, missionary of the Dark in Tortall. Glimpses were not enough. Glimpses wouldn't save this world.

Will had taken to meditating a lot. He didn't have much time on his hands, as Sir Myles had guessed, and when he did he needed to sit down for a moment to stop the whirlwind his mind was in and consider his plan of action. It was in one of these meditative moments, polishing one of his better attempts at a sword, that he decided his first priority from then on must be the defeat of the Dark.

Duke Roger of Conté wanted to be King of Tortall, and for this he had enlisted the aid of the Dark, and would, once crowned, turn over Tortall to the Dark. This was the one fundamental issue on which Alanna and Will had different views. His primary mission was to foil the Dark, whereas Alanna only wanted Duke Roger's plot to fail – Will couldn't explain to her the bigger picture, she wouldn't understand that whoever ruled as king wasn't so important as who ruled the king. Will would have to work with what he had, and try to keep his goals as closely linked with Alanna's as possible.

Alanna had told him that Duke Roger was second in line to the throne, and that to become king he was attempting to assassinate King Roald and Prince Jonathan in such circumstances as would seem accidental. From what Will had gathered, Prince Jonathan seemed to be the first target. Now that he knew about the trip to the coast, Will couldn't see a better opportunity for Duke Roger. Will knew he must overturn Duke Roger's plans in order to gain some insight into what exactly was going on. Therefore, Will would have to join the trip going to the coast, for though Duke Roger was staying behind, Will didn't believe he would pass up the chance to wreak havoc from afar. The only problem was Aram Sklaw. The captain would never let Will have time off from his duties as apprentice swordsman.

-

"Sir," began Will urgently, a week later, to Aram Sklaw, "Sir, my mother, she sent word to me she's ill. Can I have permission to go to her? I'll only be three days at most."

Captain Aram looked at him hard, then sighed. Will had discovered that the captain's own mother had died when he was ten years old: mothers were the only grounds on which the strict Aram Sklaw might give way. "Aye. Go. Three days only, mark it. Don't go disappearing off."

"No sir," Will bowed, vowing silently to one day atone for this atrocious lie.

Moments later he was in his room, alone, bolting the door shut. He steadied his breathing, and consciously became the Old One. He looked to the small slit of a window in his room, his eyes mired with the wisdom of ages. "Bird." He said, his voice neither young nor old, but timeless.

Will Stanton the Old One transformed, with no flash of light or climactic crash, into an inconspicuous little sparrow. The sparrow hopped on to the sill of Will's window slit, flexing his wings enthusiastically.

The sparrow that was Will sprang into mid-air with an exuberant chirp, spreading his wings and surfing the air currents over the procession of horses and knights on the ground. His mind was singing with awe and his heart was lighter than his feathers.

As the party left the palace and Corus behind and started to pick up speed, Will was forced to transform out of the sparrow's body and shape himself into a peregrine falcon to keep up with the pace.

Will, with difficulty, kept open his human awareness, giving over the rest of himself to flight and the bird's bursting glory. It was necessary to keep an eye on the travellers beneath him, and not succumb entirely to the instincts of the bird he had become.

Encountering no problems, Will found himself rejoicing. It had been some years since he'd properly exercised his powers, and even then it had been for business purposes only. This was a pleasant change.

They soon reached the coast, Will having endured the long flight easily, deterring all winged predators. Will was at once witness to a stretch of millions of little suns. It was a while before his stunned brain realised it was sunshine being reflected in the sea. Breathless, he flapped for a moment, caught like an arrow in the heart by the spectacle.

He lowered himself slowly, spiralling sluggishly earthward, revelling in the view and his avian freedom.

Will perched on the roof-gutters of the inn the knights and squires were staying at and prepared himself for a long wait. He must be constantly vigilant. When Duke Roger struck, it would be quickly and unexpectedly. He had to be ready.

-

In event, Will only had to wait for the next day's afternoon, by which time he felt reasonably recuperated from the palace labours set him by Aram Sklaw, and in good condition to be saving lives.

The knights and squires had toured the small seaside town and settled in well at the inn. They had just had lunch and gone down to the beach. Many of the squires had never seen the Emerald Ocean because they lived inland, and it was a marvellous experience for them. Will, a sparrow again, sitting unobtrusively on a nearby sandcastle, shared their wonder, but could not imagine what it would be like to have never seen the sea until you were fourteen or fifteen years old.

Someone had bought a ball in town and someone else had brought their sword down from the inn. Soon a game began whose rules consisted mainly of hitting the ball with the scabbard and running around in a wide circle before the ball was caught and ready to be thrown again. Will watched interestedly, and wished he could have been one of the squires. Being a bird was extraordinary, but he had no one to share the experience with and he was lonely.

His loneliness ended a second later when a squire hit the ball so hard that it went soaring high into the air. It was caught by a fluke draught of wind and carried over the sea, where it dropped suddenly, as though it had been released from an invisible hand.

The squires looked on in dismay as the tide started to take the ball further out to sea. Will felt sorry for them. He knew how annoying it was to lose something in the sea. All of a sudden Prince Jonathan and Gareth the Younger of Naxen went tearing into the sea in their breeches, laughing and calling to each other, racing each other to see who would reach the ball first. The squires, including Alanna, were cheering them on. Will, amused, would have laughed if birds were able to.

Then, maybe twenty metres out from the shore, Sir Gareth grabbed the ball and Prince Jonathan splashed him to try and make him drop it. Sir Gareth stuck his tongue out at his cousin and started to swim back to the beach. Jonathan was about to follow suit when his foot snagged, and he was dragged under.

Will's attention caught. What was Prince Jonathan doing? Sir Gareth still hadn't noticed his cousin wasn't following him, he was too busy laughing because he'd won. Alanna noticed next, and she started screaming to Sir Gareth.

Sir Gareth couldn't hear her, his waterlogged ears mistaking her screams for cheers, but Will was already winging his way out to sea to the last place he'd seen Prince Jonathan before he sank.

A roll of terrifying thunder made him look to the horizon. A storm? The sky had been spotlessly clear only minutes ago. He frowned. Duke Roger was at work. With the weather. He would have to hurry before the tempest engulfed them.

Will plunged into the water, shifting, as he did, back into the more familiar human form he wore, into the Old One he concealed. He felt around for Prince Jonathan's consciousness. It was far below him. He floated down, down, down. It was dark there, in the pit of the ocean, and had his eyes been human, he would have been blinded.

But he could feel Prince Jonathan thrashing desperately only feet away, drowning, his legs entangled in something Dark and malicious. Will reached out, and the Dark thing shrank from his blazing touch.

"Jonathan," he whispered into the man's ear, planting new breath in his lungs and energy in his bones, drawing him into a bubble he had created.

Then Will Stanton began to sing, his voice light and transcendent, reaching out to sooth the approaching storm as if it were a beast that had been cruelly baited.

Prince Jonathan knelt, coughing out water. "What – what's happening? What happened to me? Am I dead?" he drew in a series of racking breaths, looking fearfully up at the Old One. "Will Stanton?" he asked, and though his voice was little more than a whisper of suffering, Will heard a note of incredulity in it.

Will gave sound to the last of his song, and the dark, tightly-knit clouds dispersed as the tempest settled and was calmed. Will stood for a moment in silence, still caught up in the song's rhythm, enchanted by its sweetness. Then he sighed and his gaze alit on Prince Jonathan, who trembled, for he had never been looked at by anyone whose eyes were so penetrating.

"Jonathan. You weren't meant to die today." Now Will was tired. He couldn't find it in himself to make the effort to be comforting, or give any kind of explanation. "You'll swim back up to the surface and you'll swim back to the beach. You will not speak of this to anyone. Or there will be problems for me."

"Oh." Had Prince Jonathan expected more? "Of course. I owe you my life, Will. I'm on your side, whatever side you're on. Where are we? And who are you?"

"It doesn't matter," said Will. "Suffice to say, I'll pay back the person who intended to kill you. You've got your breath back now. It's time for you to go and tell everyone you were just mucking around. Take a deep breath."

Before Prince Jonathan could say anything the protective bubble of oxygen disappeared and he was under the pressure of who knew how much seawater, struggling upward for air.

Will, the bird, waited until Prince Jonathan broke the water's surface before he turned away and began the flight back to Corus, Duke Roger's assassination foiled. Circumstances had changed, and he didn't know anymore where he stood. Where anyone stood.

_Will all my life be given in fighting for mankind and the ideals of the Light?_

_What if I get worn down?_

Will had no answers for himself, only a wealth of sighs that did him no good and weighed him down with dissatisfaction.

_There will be a reward. There must be a reward. I won't always be alone._


	7. A Man's Character Is His Fate

Chapter 7

The day the knights and squires returned from the coast, Will was out with Laughing Nell. Aram Sklaw had obviously decided that his apprentice needed to let off some steam. Will had been restless since he had flown back into his room. Things of consequence were happening, he was certain, but he didn't know _what_. The Dark was plotting. It frustrated him.

That evening out, though, he was determined to enjoy himself. It had been more than a week since their last meeting, and he had been looking forward to seeing her again.

They'd gone to the weekly horse race, because Will had said he wanted to be involved in something local and Nell was just pleased that Will had come to her to be his guide around Corus.

"Plonkhead's the favourite to win," Nell was telling him, "And Leapfrog's a rising star."

"What about Bantanamo, over there?" asked Will, pointing at a very ordinary brown-haired gelding.

Nell shrugged, "Bantanamo's been in the races for as long as I can remember. He was never much of a racer that I know of, and he's gettin' t'wards th' age where he'll go t' th' knacker's any day now."

"Oh," said Will, and frowned, which made Nell smile.

"Aw, he's just a horse, it's th' way of th' races, ye know."

"Yeah. C'mon then, who're we going to bet on? Quick before the heat starts."

Minutes later they were sitting down in the common people's stands with fish and chips and a joint eight nobels on Plonkhead.

The horses trotted into their booths. Will tried to make out the riders, but their faces were hidden by makeshift cloth helmets. He supposed modern reinforced helmets hadn't been invented and knights' helmets were too inconvenient.

"Which booth's Plonkhead in again? Is that him in number eight?"

"No, he's in number four, next to Bantanamo." Will could see him now. He felt sorry for the horses who had to be next to the favourite. _It must be pretty depressing_, he thought.

"If it isn't Laughing Nell," a voice broke into their thoughts, "I thought I recognised your delicious self here. I don't suppose I might join you?"

"Mister Gideon," greeted Nell pleasantly, shooting Will a warning look, "how nice t' see ye. I thought ye were on border patrol this month?"

Will took a good look at the man now. He was lean and of average height, with surprisingly clean, floppy, golden hair. Will instantly disliked him, for his attitude towards Nell and the arrogant way he stood, displaying his myriad scars as though they were medals.

"We were, but the horses all caught some foreign sickness, so we were ordered back so they could be treated. I thought I might come visit you and your lush ladies. My luck must be in, for here you sit, waiting like a gift to be unwrapped."

"Ye're better off goin' t' th' flat if ye're in that mood, Mister Gideon. I'm afraid yer luck's just evaporated, if I'm any judge. I'm on my night-off."

"Funny way you have of showing it, one way or another you seem to be with a man. Though now that I look at him proper-like, he's more boy than man. Any other woman would switch if she had the chance."

Nell smiled disarmingly, and Will pretended not to seethe. "Ye're a joker, for sure, Mister Gideon, but I assure ye a better welcome awaits ye at th' flat than I can give ye."

"A crying shame, too. And a pity to leave you with this mouse. You'll be wanting to set a cat on him before the week's out, that's how boring he looks," with that Mister Gideon departed.

"See ye around then, Mister Gideon," Laughing Nell waved at his retreating back, then turned to meet Will's dark and smoulderingly angry gaze.

"Why do you let him treat you like that?" asked Will, his voice hard and cold as nails.

"Coz he's a customer, Will." Nell took his hand, "He's a regular as well. Politeness is part of our policy. Besides, ye gotta make some allowances. He ain't used t' bein' inferior t' women."

"Inferior?"

"Sure. He's a brutal sorta guy, all he knows is how t' hurt people t' get his way. Since he knows we'll stop servin' him if he dares lay a finger on any of us, well, he says stuff instead."

"You're telling me he's never tried to hurt you then?"

"Damn straight he ain't. He don't dare."

"If he doesn't get what he wants, why doesn't he just move on?"

"He's addicted." Seeing the disgusted look on Will's face, she hurried to explain, "look, what we do, it's kind of like an art. The action side of it, that's just one aspect, I mean there's th' atmosphere and th' location–" she stopped, "alright then, put it like this, why eat mint chocolate over dark or white or milk chocolate? It's coz it's yer favourite, get me? But it's more than that for our Mister Gideon, more powerful. It's an addiction, and on account of that he can't afford t' get himself banned from our flat for bad behaviour."

"Whatever."

"Will, listen t' me. I'm sorry that my way of life upsets ye, and that evidence of it seems t' be just about everywhere, but I can't help it."

"Why don't you get an honest job?"

"Coz all th' big trades only want men for labourers, and th' others won't pay so well. I mean, I make th' most of th' whole flower-sellin' business, but th' money's not exactly brilliant. At th' end of th' day there's only so many flowers people want, y'know? Women aren't s'posed t' work. They're s'posed t' be wives, do what their hubbies tell 'em, and have little kiddies. And help other women have little kiddies, come t' that, but otherwise not do anythin' much 'cept look pretty and tell stories."

"That's rubbish," said Will, appalled.

"Ye been livin' under a rock since birth, have ye then? If my choice is between death, or life and dishonour, then I'll always choose t' live in disgrace. I'm sorry if that makes ye unhappy, but I'm only human, and this life's all I got. I don't want t' lose it so soon."

"It's just so different, I can hardly get my head round it," Will declared, and sighed, "At least explain to me why you put up with pricks like that – that _bastard_."

"Mister Gideon? Will, ye're not stupid, what kind of a question is that? It's only th' less than honourable men that'll even consider comin' t' see my girls and me. All them moral, upstandin' men, all them as care for their ethics and their immortal souls, they ain't gonna set foot near our flat. We ain't never gonna get the decent sorts, so we gotta make do."

"That's not fair," said Will, disheartened. "Death or dishonour? That's not a choice. What kind of life…? God, and this is real. This happens here. This is happening. It's just not fair."

"Will, life's not fair. Besides, it may not be a good or easy choice to make, t' live th' way I do, but at least th' choice was there. And who knows? I still have time t' make somethin' out of this life, out of myself. Ye watch me."

"I'll see what I can do."

Laughing Nell smiled. Then,

"Ooo look! Old Bantanamo's givin' Plonkhead a run for his money!"

"Really? I thought you said he wasn't much of a racer?" _Look at him racing now -  
_

"He ain't, I swear, but every now and again when th' others are tired he pulls off a hat-trick like this. It's what his owners keep him for."

"But we bet on Plonkhead!"

"Don't worry, Plonkhead won't lose."

"Nell, they're _tying_." Will said, turning away from the race to look at her. A second later he regretted it, as Laughing Nell's eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open:

"Whoa, Goddess! Damn! What a way to end the race!"

People in front of them had stood up so it was a while before Will saw what had happened. When he did, he felt his stomach wrench in distress.

Bantanamo had fallen, whether a shoe had come loose or he'd tripped in a slippery stretch of track-mud or something fundamental in body or mind had given way, Will couldn't know. His rider had been tossed to the ground, but he had already stood up unhurt and was dusting down his jacket and breeches.

No one came to Bantanamo until after the race was finished; until all the other contenders had rushed past his eyes, coating his flank in thrown-up flakes of dust and mud. He lay forlorn, heaving for breath, gasping when it wouldn't come fast enough.

Will, who watched from his place by Nell, was sick to his soul. Another life that was faced with dead-ends, and paths that led their walker nowhere. Except that Bantanamo's looked to be much shorter than Laughing Nell's, and much less hopeful.

Finally, as stable-hands came to treat Bantanamo, Will could no longer find it in himself to stand by and watch.

"Back in a minute," he told Laughing Nell.

"Where're ye goin'?" Nell asked, as the fingers of their hands untangled and fell apart.

"Just to – to take a look at Bantanamo. See what's what."

"Alright. I'll go get our winnin's. Just don't get too, y'know, caught up in it. It's not yer business whether that horse lives or dies, so it ain't worth gettin' sad over."

_Too late for that. I've already made it my business._ Will thought darkly as he made his way over to the fence separating the track from the viewing area and vaulted easily over.

"Hey, mister, what're ye doin'?" asked the first stable-hand who saw him walking towards the fallen Bantanamo.

"Is he OK?"

The second stable-hand stared at him, then sighed, "Does he look OK?"

_No_, saw Will despondently, _he looks like he may be dying_. Will knelt down beside the stable-hands, at Bantanamo's head, and laid his hand on the space between his ears. And willed himself inside. And felt Bantanamo's life as clearly as if he might see a candle, flickering at the end of its wick, the wax all melted and made one with the darkness. An unquenchable darkness that had sucked all of Bantanamo's memories, all of his youth into its maw.

Bantanamo had reached the end of his candle.

_But you weren't even that old. Just so tired. Is this how we die? When we are so tired with life that all that's left to us is death? Is it a choice to die?_

_I won't let you die just yet. I'm sorry for my selfishness, but I can't let you go. Not while it's in my power to make you stay._

With his power, Will breathed oxygen to Bantanamo's sputtering candlelight, and out of age made new wax, and out of fatigue, new wick.

"Hey what're ye doin', mister?" asked a stable-hand nervously.

"Nothing," muttered Will, concentrating.

"Then get your filthy hands off my horse!" ordered Bantanamo's red-faced owner.

Will pried his mind away from Bantanamo and took away his hands.

"Sorry," he said, turning away and walking off, even as Bantanamo's feverish eyes fluttered open and he rose to his hooves.

_You're living on extended time. _Will thought to the horse. He wanted to tell him to make use of it, but what would that mean to a horse?

He ignored Bantanamo's owner's exclamations of amazement, and returned to Laughing Nell. She looked at him inquisitively, but he shook his head and she smiled.

"Sentimental old twit."

"Shut up."

Laughing Nell kissed him instead.


	8. The Dark Strikes

Chapter 8

Prince Jonathan knocked politely, then pushed open the door to his cousin's room. Duke Roger looked up from his desk, saw it was the prince, and contorted his lips into a welcoming smile.

"Jon," he greeted, "You startled me, cousin! I didn't expect you to be on time."

Prince Jonathan grinned back warmly; "Only for you, Roger. Besides, how often do I get the privilege of meeting you in your private study? I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity!" he hesitated before going on, "joking aside, your request for me to see you seemed urgent, considering it came almost as soon as I got back. I came as quickly as I could. Is anything wrong?"

Roger of Conté sighed, "Very astute," he said, carefully beginning to probe Prince Jonathan's mind with his Gift. All he could sense on the surface was concern for his own well-being, and a tangle of mixed feelings that Lady Delia seemed to be at the centre of. "How was your trip to the coast?" he asked, to take Prince Jonathan's mind off the uncomfortable prickling in his head that was Duke Roger digging deeper, into the prince's subconscious.

Immediately, as if the question had been a trigger, Prince Jonathan's mind was a-whirr with memories, and feelings entirely incompatible with the pleasant trip to the seaside.

Duke Roger, deep in Prince Jonathan's mind, was swamped with thousands of brief, flashing impressions and was momentarily staggered by the overload of information. Knowing that he'd found his answers, Duke Roger began to pluck out scenes, keeping an ear open to Prince Jonathan's account.

"… Thoroughly enjoyable, if a little dull on occasion. It was fantastic just to be away from the palace for a while, it can be so suffocating here. We visited the whole general region, the landscape is very beautiful – I'm going to ask some of the court painters to go draw the temple of the Mother Goddess we saw, it's ancient, which just goes to show how far back Her religion extends." Prince Jonathan sounded more enthused than he felt.

Deep in Prince Jonathan's mind, Roger of Conté had unearthed the goldmine of memories he so especially wanted. The overruling emotions in them were fear and gratitude and, inexplicably, awe. Duke Roger delved further, slowing down the visual images, watching them in slow motion – Prince Jonathan had been in a state of panic, everything was jumbled, fractured: Water, darkness, distress, desperation – resignation! Then breath. Air. In the water – A MAN BLAZING WITH LIGHT –

The shock and terror was too much, too sudden, and Duke Roger of Conté jerked violently away. Once more in his body, he breathed a long, shuddering breath. He held up his hand, and Prince Jonathan fell quiet, halfway through recounting his wine-tasting tour.

"What is it?" Prince Jonathan asked worriedly, was it just him or had his cousin's face gone a few shades paler than usual?

Roger of Conté was shaken. Where had the man come from? So he really _had_ taken the time to follow the trail of the Dark, to Tortall, and now to Duke Roger. Duke Roger wanted more than ever to know the exact details of what had transpired on the shore of the Emerald Ocean. Was the Watchman somehow linked with Prince Jonathan? How else could he have sensed the danger to the prince's life, and averted it? Unless … a new thought dawned on Duke Roger – what if the Watchman could sense the Gift? What if he could trace Duke Roger's Gift directly to him?! A tiny bead of sweat made its trickling way down Duke Roger's armpit. He needed answers!

"Jon," he said evenly, "I don't know if you were aware – perhaps you were not at the beach when it happened – but there were reports of a freak storm."

"Yes," said Prince Jonathan, "we saw it and ran for the inn as soon as we had gathered everyone. You shouldn't have feared for us."

"Except," continued Duke Roger, his voice confidential, "the storm was not a fluke of nature," Jonathan's eyebrows rose. "It was spell-driven."

Prince Jonathan was all frantic excitement now, "I thought as much! I've never seen a storm so quickly brewed, nor head so unerringly towards people – do you know who did it?"

"Alas, no," sighed Duke Roger, "but the sorcerer has been active for some months now, and though I have been attempting to discover his location, I have met only with failure. His attacks are too sudden and unpredictable."

Duke Roger watched his cousin curse silently, before adding, "I have determined, however, that this immoral sorcerer has made it his task to end your life, Jon."

Prince Jonathan nodded, showing no surprise.

"You're my cousin and I want there to be no secrets between us, so I'll be candid with you: It is my belief that it was this very sorcerer who bewitched Demon Grey this autumn, in the hopes that the wolf would fell you on the hunt."

"It does make sense," Prince Jonathan agreed sombrely.

"Indeed. However, I am no closer now to finding the sorcerer and ending the threat he poses to you than I was when he first made it his mission to bring harm to you."

"I see," muttered Prince Jonathan, "I suppose all we can do is hope for the best then." He was thinking of Will Stanton, whom he now trusted beyond even the shadow of a doubt.

"Jon, you're the heir to Tortall, the King's only son. Hoping isn't good enough – the guilt would cripple me if you were to die at the hands of this sorcerer because of my shortcomings." Duke Roger sighed, "No, at all costs you must be kept safe. But I need your help, Jon. Will you help me?"

"Of course, cousin," Prince Jonathan replied, "but how could I do anything? The strength of my arm and my magic are all I could lend you, but I'm no magician, and as you intend for me to keep out of harm's way, I assume that letting me fight is out of the question. So no matter what battle skills I may have, you will refuse to utilise them."

"Aye," Duke Roger laughed, "you know me too well. But," he became serious, "you could prove invaluably helpful to me, Jon, as you have come in contact with our perpetrator's sorcery. I have never seen it at work, yet you were close at hand – if you could tell me everything that happened that day, including any attraction you felt to the storm – did you feel like it was calling out to you? As though, perhaps, it was pulling you towards it?"

Prince Jonathan felt his resolve to keep his ordeal a secret start to waver. This was his cousin after all. All Duke Roger wanted was to keep him safe, and he already seemed to know so much, but still… "Well–"

"Were you in danger at any time? And what did you do? Remember, anything you tell me could be essential to defeating this sorcerer. Leave nothing out, I can't emphasise enough how important even the tiniest detail could prove to be!"

Completely enthralled, Prince Jonathan made up his mind, and proceeded to relate to Duke Roger the events of the day on which he nearly died.

-

"Will, what in th' Black God's name is goin' on?" demanded Laughing Nell, shoving Will against the wall of the side-street she'd dragged him into. Will looked at her, surprised. He had no idea what she was talking about. He'd come into Corus for news, had been walking down the road, eavesdropping on people's conversations – and now he was facing an incensed Nell.

"What did I do?" he asked, perplexed.

"Don't pull that rubbish on me! How could I know what ye've done t' get Duke Roger's attention?!"

"What?"

"Don't act like ye don't know! Word is he's out for ye. I should've known ye was trouble! Th' moment ye started askin' me 'bout Duke Roger I should've ditched ye! And then Jamie Bone! As if th' signs weren't clear enough! What're th' odds of an urchin turnin' swordsman overnight?"

Will sank to the ground. _So_. Roger of Conté had twigged something was peculiar about him. Perhaps he knew more. Will's brow furrowed in thought. The situation had changed, and he had to adapt. Fast.

"What exactly does he want from me? Is he going to kill me? What does he have against me?" he asked out loud.

Nell hit him, and though his head snapped back and juddered painfully against the wall, and his eye should have felt like an erupting volcano, it barely registered.

"How can ye keep lyin' and pretendin' t' be an idiot? I'm th' one askin' th' questions! George was right not t' trust ye, by th' Goddess! What does th' Duke want with ye?"

"I'm not sure."

"Don't play stupid with me, Will! He wants an audience with ye, and everyone knows that's not good. How can I help ye if ye won't tell me anythin'?"

"An audience…" Will mused. "Then it's still OK." He got to his feet and rubbed the back of his stinging head.

"What's OK?" asked Nell, still angry, and now starting to be confused and a little scared. Blood was trickling down his face, but he made no sign of knowing it.

"Everything's OK. He doesn't know anything for sure, if he only wants to talk. He's got nothing on me." He smiled, then winced. "Nell, what did you _do_ to me? Did you have to hit so hard? I'm going to have a headache for days."

"I'm–" Nell bit her lip in the middle of her apology. "Will–" she wasn't sure how to be angry with him again and continue her line of inquiry. "Will, why won't ye tell me anythin'?" she settled with finally. Will heard the unhappiness in her voice and didn't know how to respond.

"Nell…" he took her hand, "there's nothing to tell." He smiled and shook his head, seeing the protest already on her lips. "Well, maybe there is. But what good would it do to know? It's not important."

"Maybe if ye tell me, I could be th' judge of that." Nell muttered.

"Yeah. Maybe one day." Will grinned.

"Ye mean never," Nell grumbled.

"Can't I be mysterious?"

"No. 'Cause I can't look out for mysterious. I can't protect mysterious."

"What makes you so sure I need protecting, anyway? I'm strong and healthy and I can use a sword."

Laughing Nell shrugged, "If ye didn't need protectin', ye wouldn't need me and I wouldn't be seein' ye so often, would I? So I guess it's in my interests t' be lookin' out for ye." Will could see her hiding a smile now, and knew he was on safe ground.

He tightened his hold on her hand.

"I'll be alright. Stop worrying."

"I can't, stupid, or I would've."

-

Alanna pounced on Will as soon as he returned to the palace. He could tell she'd been waiting for him by the impatient look on her face.

"Duke Roger's asking to see you. It's a big honour, since you're only an apprentice soldier really, so you don't have a choice about going."

"Right. Where do I go? Where are his rooms?"

"You know the hall? Go up the smaller flight of stairs you see near there. And don't give away too much. If he thinks I suspect him – I don't even want to go there."

Will rolled his eyes at her. "If he suspected you, he'd be interviewing you. He probably hasn't considered that you might be his prime enemy yet. Chill."

"But so much depends on him not knowing anything, and not finding out about anything! And he'll use his Gift on you! I wish I could tell Thom how things are going here. I bet he knows something. He always hears things at the monastery."

"The Rogue's messengers still not getting through?"

"He hasn't sent anyone since the last got killed. It's so annoying. I'd go myself but my duties won't let me."

Will thought about this for a moment. "I'll go."

Alanna looked at him sceptically. "Will, you have duties too. Aram Sklaw would never let you off for a week, and it would take you longer than a week to get to the City of the Gods and back. Besides, it's too dangerous. Duke Roger has the road watched at all times. You might be good with a sword, but you can't escape archers."

"I'd find a way."

Alanna's mouth twisted with indecision.

Will smiled and shook his head. "Just give me the letter tonight."

Then he went. Alanna stared after him. _How come he's so carefree?_

_Maybe he has insanity in his family, too_, Faithful suggested from somewhere in the region below her knees. Alanna sighed.

"I'll just have to ask him, if he gets back alive."

Will, nearing the hall, overheard the exchange and smiled. _They call you Faithful, but where is your faith now, cat?_

And if Faithful heard the criticism, he made no sign of it.

- - -

Author's note: just wanted to say, A-man you are officially my Number 1 Reviewer. Rock on. The rest of you can be ashamed. Or you could review 8P. ttfn


	9. Human Malice

Chapter 9

Will stood at the entrance to Duke Roger's chambers. He knocked carefully, then put his hand on the door handle. It emitted a burst of orange flame, but Will deflected the magic away with ease and opened the door.

"So you are Will Stanton, Aram Sklaw's talented new apprentice." The voice was musical, not the terrible voice of the Dark it should have been.

"I am, Your Grace," said Will to the man sitting at his desk. He was a little surprised. Duke Roger looked very human – somehow he had expected worse. Yet here sat a mere man, albeit with broad shoulders, muscles and strong-looking hands: a handsome blue-eyed man with neatly trimmed beard of black-brown hair and a perfect set of teeth.

"What, no bow?"

Duke Roger stood up, and Will discovered that he was also very tall. And nervous – clenched in his hand, a rod of some sort, of some power – how much did Duke Roger know? Enough to be afraid. But not afraid enough to forsake his curiosity.

"I would ask you to take a seat, but I doubt that you would, would you, Will Stanton?"

"I suppose you'll never know, Your Grace." Will said. "But I didn't come here to chat all day with you. You summoned me for a reason, Your Grace."

"Of course. How business-like you are. Enough stalling then." Duke Roger never took his eyes from Will's, and Will wondered how a mortal man could go so long without blinking. "Alright. Why are you here, in Tortall I mean, and especially in Corus? This isn't where you belong."

"To stop you, Your Grace."

"And what makes you think you can?" demanded Roger, and suddenly Will could feel a heaviness in the air.

"So this is the Gift," he said out loud. "Is it working, Your Grace? Does it show you things?"

"I can't get in!" Duke Roger groaned, sweat beading his brow, "_Let me in!_"

"In where? Into my _self_? You're just a man, Duke Roger, the differences between you and I are incomparable, you can't even begin to imagine. I will let you in, Duke Roger, so that you can understand that while men may tremble at your powers, whole_ universes_ tremble at mine."

Will opened the doors of his mind, and Duke Roger crashed through, into the brilliant white sun that was Will's essence.

Duke Roger screamed.

Will closed the doors, and Duke Roger was shut out once more. He shook, steadying himself with his chair, refusing to sit, refusing to make any gesture of obeisance.

A wall of orange fire enclosed Will, but his flesh stubbornly refused to burn. A shell of stone crushed him, but he was not squashed. A tower of orange ice encapsulated him, but he was not frozen. A dagger flew on a direct course for his heart, but it stopped in mid-air and fell uselessly to the floor. Duke Roger's face was ashen now.

"I'll see you die, Will Stanton, if I have to call down the gods themselves to do it."

"Your gods wouldn't listen to you, Your Grace."

"Don't call me that! Don't mock me with that title!" hissed Duke Roger, who had never known such fear. He hid it with resentment; a burning hatred that lent him the resolve and the courage to speak out and defy this enemy. "No death is too cruel for you, but don't worry, if it can't be me, it will be my master, and she will make you die a thousand, thousand deaths. And then I will be satisfied."

"Tell your master that I come for her. Everyday I am here, she is weaker and I am closer to breaking her hold on this world. Tell her, the Dark is falling."

Duke Roger seethed. Will saw the orange glow an instant before the curse struck him.

He could hear Laughing Nell shrieking in pain, and a cramp in his chest told him his heart was in shreds. He had never felt so powerless and – _old_. What was this? He tried to remember what had happened before, but there _was_ no before, at least none that came to mind. He was shouting, but he had no voice. He was running, but his legs were withered stumps. He was crawling, but his muscles had seized up _and could a man's heart bleed tears? _He was crying, but his eyes were sand.

Back in Duke Roger's chambers, Will blazed as he had beneath the Emerald Ocean, as he had in the woods at the ends of the earth. His eyes, half-shut, opened, flaring. He registered the chamber and Duke Roger. He had been fooled for perhaps the best of five seconds. His mouth tightened.

Duke Roger smiled smugly. "That's the first appropriate reaction you've given me. You see, I am someone to be reckoned with."

"Don't _ever_ cross me." Will said, and though his voice was even, it was all he could do to keep it from shaking _… never so powerless … or so old … so human … _Will lost his grip on calm.

"You thick little man! Stand us side by side and you would be like an ant beside a mountain! Less! A fleck of dust beside the sun! Are you so confident in your master that you would risk everything on a gamble?!"

"I'm not as clueless as you think, Will Stanton. I know about you, Old One, I did my research. My master has told me everything there is to know about you. Do you think I'd summon a demi-god like you without having an idea of what I was facing, what do you take me for?"

Will was silent.

"You're the Watchman, and there's only one of you. When you're gone, there will be no one else to take your place. You can kill me, but my master can bring me back. And you aren't allowed to draw too much attention to yourself. People aren't meant to be popping up out of nowhere and then disappearing. You have your code to abide by. You are the Light."

"I am the vessel of the Light," responded Will, "but I'm human too. And I can't stand people like you."

Suddenly Duke Roger was flat against the wall, the breath being squeezed slowly and inexorably out of his lungs.

"People like me?" he managed to gasp.

"People like you, who stand in my way, for no better reason than their own greed! You made your choice a while ago. You are with the Dark. I am your enemy. If it weren't for protocol, you might be dead now. Next time, you won't get off so lucky. Watch your step."

Will released his hold, and Duke Roger slithered to the ground, his lips leeched of colour by his near suffocation.

"Goodbye, Your Grace." Will closed the door softly and left.

He knew his fight with Duke Roger had only just begun. He wondered what the man would do next. He felt unbelievably foolish. He had underestimated Duke Roger, and in one moment he had been on his knees – less than five seconds? It had felt like a lifetime to Will. By underestimating Duke Roger, he had underestimated the Dark, and that was dangerous. Of course Rissena of the Dark would have boosted her minion's power if she thought Will would confront him. Will could kick himself. But what use would that be? He just had to get on with the job, and remember his mistakes.

–

"Will," said Alanna that night in his room. "I wrote the stupid letter, but there's no way I'm letting you take it – for one thing it's not safe, and for the other, Aram Sklaw won't let you out of the palace. So there."

"Alanna, I already have the captain's permission to go. He's given me a week's leave."

"_What?_"

Will decided against telling her the lie he'd told Aram Sklaw – that his mother had died. Another despicable lie, told in the name of his cause, the cause that was meant to be working for good. _Do the ends justify the means?_ As far as he was concerned anyway, he had no mother in this world.

"See? Problem sorted. I'll go tonight. Come on, pass us the letter already, you know you want to."

"Aye, I want to, but I can't in good conscience send you to your death. And don't kid yourself that that's not exactly where you're going. The Dark God is all that awaits you."

"Alright so I'm not too clear on the route to the City of the Gods, but that is not an issue, I'll find it. I want to go. I promise you."

"You'll get yourself killed! If not by Duke Roger's men then by real bandits! I won't let you!"

"OK, OK, fine. Let me put you at ease. Watch closely, will you?" rolling her eyes Alanna watched as Will stood in the centre of the room. He smiled at her and whispered something.

Alanna nearly fainted.

"I thought you said you weren't a wizard?" she asked weakly.

"Trust me now? I'm not just a man, I'm a bird, and what archer will shoot down a bird when he's been told only to watch for men on horseback?"

"Alright. Take it. But you better be back here, in a week, in one piece. If not, I'll–" she sighed. This was pointless. "Just go," she told him.

"On my way," clutching the rolled-up parchment in his hand he took a running start at the window, transforming into a bird mid-leap, half-crying, half-cawing over his shoulder; "Take care!"

Then he was gone, a speeding peregrine falcon. Alanna watched, breath-taken, until he was lost in the darkening sky, northbound for the City of the Gods.

"Faithful, one of these days my heart's just going to give out, I swear. This is just insane. I was only supposed to start having adventures _after_ becoming a knight."

- - -

To A-man: lol it is a little disturbing. o well what can you do? i don't have anything against gay people either btw. sorry about the rushed feeling, i think my imagination just sort of hops from scene to scene, and i want to move on before the story gets boring. something like that, i don't know. i appreciate the compliments though 8P. 'chill' was probably not the right word but... creative license innit. and what kind of detail were you wanting? scenery, people, thoughts?


	10. Yang Of The Lioness

Chapter 10

Thom of Trebond, aspiring wizard and twin to Alanna, looked back at his window and smiled grimly to himself. The falcon sitting on the sill had been there since midday, and hadn't moved an inch in all that time.

"Alright, my mysterious friend, now that I have time … let's see what's so special about you, shall we?"

The peregrine falcon stared at him, unblinking.

Thom threw a small fireball at his uninvited guest, having guessed a while ago that the bird was not all it seemed. Sure enough, on touching the bird the fireball shrivelled into nothing.

The peregrine falcon ruffled its feathers. Thom gaped.

He started to channel his will into a more powerful spell, a spell of enclosing. But the falcon shook its head and Thom felt his magic come undone. What was this bird? Even a wizard's familiar, endowed with magical abilities, should not have had the power required to best him.

Thom focused himself once more, telling himself he couldn't be put off by a fluke of luck. What kind of a wizard would he be if he allowed such a minor setback to ruin his self-confidence?

Taking deep breaths to steady himself, Thom closed his eyes, and opened a mental eye of true-seeing. With this invisible eye, he turned his gaze back to the mysterious peregrine falcon perched on his windowsill. And zoomed into those dark eyes.

Thom didn't know what he expected to find, perhaps a bird with artificial intelligence? Or that the bird was just a holographic image broadcast by some wizard's magic, to spy on him?

What Thom found made him stumble several paces back, clutching his eyes, whimpering.

"I'm sorry," said Will, a man again, sitting on the windowsill. "I didn't think you'd do that. I didn't think you could. Are you alright?"

Thom put up an arm to shield himself from what he knew must be an attack on him by powerful magic. Despite himself, he started praying, old children's prayers coming unsought to his lips.

"Hey, c'mon, pull yourself together, I don't want to hurt you." Will said, "Alanna sent me, because the Rogue's messengers were getting killed off. She says Happy Birthday, in advance."

"Oh." _Oh?!_

"See? And you thought I was some kind of demon? Please. Here, let me help you up. Whoa," Will slid off the windowsill, to the ground, and came to a standstill. "_Whoa_." He said again. _Incredible. The very rock burns with magic – so pure it could be High Magic itself._ "This wasn't how I imagined meeting you for the first time. I didn't think you'd be so nervous."

"Huh. Well. I thought I was a better wizard than I obviously am. I was thinking of taking the examinations of Mastery this summer."

_You have a choice about taking exams? And you're taking them?! Workaholic._ Outloud, he said instead, "Nice. I'm sure you'll pass with flying colours."

Thom stared at him. "Gods," he muttered, "I could have told anyone else and they might have had a heart-attack from shock. Figures I'd get the one person in the world who didn't give a damn."

Will shrugged, "I didn't know it was such a big deal. Good luck."

"I don't need luck. I was ready to be a Master months ago. Or so I thought." Thom said bitterly.

"You look a lot like your sister, you know." Will said thoughtfully, "Except of course she hasn't got a beard."

Thom managed a smile, "Indeed." He sighed, "and what news have you brought for me? Mithros, I have a man who changes from bird to beast in my room and I haven't yet asked him his name. How rude of me. What is your name, please?"

"Will Stanton. Alanna gave me this letter. Don't worry, I haven't read it," Will grinned. "I was thinking of staying around here for a week or so, so if you have any mail you want sent back to her, feel free to use me." He looked outside. "I hadn't realised there was a temple of Mithros here, but I s'pose I should have guessed by the name of this place that he'd be represented somewhere."

"Who are you, Will Stanton?" asked Thom now, "any Tortallan knows of the City of the Gods. But you seem not to."

"Oh, call me Will, please," said Will easily, "what can I say? I never travelled much as a child. You don't mind if I go have a look at the temple? You probably want some privacy reading the letter."

"Er, yes. Thanks." Thom, surprised, found he was reluctant to let Will out of his sight. He wanted to learn about this mystery of a man. All Thom had really found out was his name. And since it was obvious he had power and skill in abundance, just a name did not satisfy Thom at all.

Outside, Will met an old yellow-skinned man in black and gold robes. Will could tell he was a wizard – something about the way Duke Roger carried himself was present in this man.

The man stopped him.

"Good evening. Forgive me for asking, but I did not see you arrive. Please, when did you get here, and where are you staying?"

"I got here half an hour ago, I think, though I don't keep time very well. I'm not staying with anyone especially, but I think Thom of Trebond may graciously allow me to stay with him."

"I see," said the old man, masking his unease with politeness. "In that case, be welcome here. I am Si-Cham, head of the Cult of Mithros and Chief of the Masters here. Who did you say you were?"

"Will Stanton. Head of the Cult of Mithros and Chief of the Masters? That sounds prestigious. What do you do?" asked Will interestedly, and not at all intimidated.

Master Si-Cham looked at him sharply, as if guarding against sarcasm. "I am the most senior sorcerer residing in the City of the Gods and I am head-priest of the religion of the god Mithros. I take services and lead in the worship of the deity."

"Wow," said Will, eyes glowing with interest, "Would you show me your magic? I haven't ever really seen anything beautiful done with it."

"Um," said Master Si-Cham, a little taken aback, his sense of unease growing, "Of course. Though usually magic shouldn't be used for the purposes of entertainment. It is an art that should be practised with great care. But I would take pleasure in showing you the lighter and more pleasant side of the Gift."

"Borozonic."

And then Master Si-Cham went to work, employing every trick at his disposal to dazzle this odd visitor.

Flowers were everywhere, and petals danced, catching the sunlight as though they existed only for that purpose – birdsong mingled in a pleasant murmur, each tune entwining with and complementing perfectly the others. The sky shone blue and then became the rosy hue of sunset, the black profoundness of night. Entranced, Will's gaze was caught. Seasons seemed to pass in front of him. Trees grew, and elder ones withered, but it was not their physical forms that Will was given to see, it was their essences – first youthful, flourishing green and then ageing and maturing golds.

Will was captivated. Constellations of stars moved in the sky. Ages passed in seconds, and were lost.

Si-Cham lost his concentration when the first tear leaked out of Will's eye: "So mote it be," he murmured, and the experience ended.

"This ... was beautiful." Will said. "You showed me life and time, and it's so beautiful."

Master Si-Cham nodded. "Enjoy it while you can. Life tends to lose its appeal when you get stiff and old." He raised his hands, "I know I am a wizard, and I can soothe the aches and pains of age away. But it tires me."

"Then let this be my gift to you," said Will, extending his hand. Si-Cham helped him to his feet, not sure what he was talking about. It was only as Will released his hold on his hand that Si-Cham understood what he had done. His body felt as young and spry as it had fifty years ago. He gaped speechlessly.

"Don't thank me." Will said with a smile.

"Why – why did you ask me? Your power is greater than mine. Why ask an old man such as I to show you his magic?"

"Because my power holds no pleasure for me. It is my tool. I must not abuse it."

"There aren't many people like you, Will Stanton."

"As far as I knew, there weren't any people like me left at all." Will shrugged. "Go enjoy your youth. There's no telling how long it will last."

"How long did you say you intended to stay here?" Master Si-Cham asked as he turned to go.

"A week. Less probably."

"And you are staying in Adept Thom's rooms. I think I will show you the temple of Mithros one day then."

Master Si-Cham went, before Will had time to tell him he had been intending to visit the temple that very hour.

–

The days seemed to blur. Will had nothing to do and, though the memory of Master Si-Cham's awesome magical display lingered foremost in his mind, as the day of his return to Corus approached, he fell to brooding about Laughing Nell. For though her rage had appeared to abate, and she had stopped asking awkward questions, Will knew she still had doubts about him.

Never had she been so angry with him – but that wasn't what had worried him the most. It was the fear he'd seen, shining out of her eyes: Nell had been afraid of _him_. He understood only too well. What sort of person could he be, to catch the Duke of Conté's attention so completely as to be given the honour of an audience. If he, Will, made the Duke nervous, he must be more dangerous than he let on. And if the Duke – one of the most powerful sorcerers in Tortall, perhaps even on the face of the earth – was nervous, then that made other people nervous too. It especially concerned Will how Nell seemed to be siding with the Rogue now. As if he didn't have enough to contend with as it was. It would lend credibility to the Rogue's distrust of Will, if even Laughing Nell lost faith in him, and then the entire Court of the Rogue would be against him. Most tortuous of all, Will had to watch Nell be upset and confused, and not be able to explain himself. Enough to let her believe he was a mage, that was within the realms of human imagination – but beyond that, and she would think he was insane.

Days passed with Will in this inescapable frame of mind, until finally Thom sent for Master Si-Cham, who came and sat by Will. It was his last day, the day Will had intended to leave the City of the Gods by. Suddenly he was reluctant to depart. As if he could feel the weight of Will's dilemma, Master Si-Cham waited a few minutes before speaking.

"Adept Thom says you aren't eating well."

"I don't need to eat."

Master Si-Cham paused, "Perhaps not, but it will do wonders for your mood."

Will sighed despondently.

"A woman, is it, perchance?" Master Si-Cham ventured, and when Will inclined his head slightly, smiled. "That's always the way of things."

"I can't think of anything else. Or any_one_ else." said Will.

"Then make things to think of. Cheer up," said Master Si-Cham hauling him to his feet, "First priority, food. Then maybe some recreation, to take your mind off your problems."

"It's no good putting things off till tomorrow, sir," said Will, "my mum always says that."

"And it's true. But what good will come of this worrying? You are depressing yourself."

"And 'self-pity is the greatest form of cowardice', said Marcus Aurelius." Will quoted softly. "That would be my dad, if he were here."

"A fascinating idea," said Master Si-Cham, without a clue as to who Marcus Aurelius was, "and is it not feasible that an answer will come to you when you seek it the least?"

"Yeah. S'pose I'll just take my chances."

Motivated, Will followed Master Si-Cham's lead, and soon found himself eating, surprising himself with his sudden hunger.

It was only as his stomach was finally sated that Master Si-Cham engaged him in conversation once more, lacing his fingers together thoughtfully.

"Will Stanton, on the first day of your stay here, you showed yourself to be a very powerful … spell-weaver," Master Si-Cham settled on the word reluctantly, as though he was aware it wasn't quite the term he wanted.

"And I would like to invite you to duel the warrior-monks of the City of the Gods. So that they may exercise their skills against a worthy opponent."

"That's very flattering, but–"

"Are you afraid that you may lose control of your power, and risk blasting them to smithereens?"

Will's lip curled in involuntary scorn. _Ha. As if_.

"Not at all," he said smoothly, "I don't think I could lose control if I wanted to." He made a quick change of decision. "It would be an honour to join in battle against your men."

Moments later they stood in a courtyard with a band of warrior-monks, and Will grew suspicious that the event had been pre-arranged.

"You are all accomplished magic-users," Master Si-Cham started, "So please have no doubts concerning the capability of your opponent."

The warrior-monks bowed politely to Will, who, taken by surprise, bowed quickly back in the manner that Aram Sklaw had taught him. Then they squared off and faced one another.

He could read their confidence out of their eyes, and their derision at having to compete against him. Clearly they were very well-trained, the best that the City of the Gods had to offer, and they had refined their teamwork to the point where they could almost read each others' thoughts._ But not mine._

"I'm sorry," Will said, "but the rock that this city is founded on is steeped in a very pure magic. It's very distracting to be in contact with it." Now he stepped up into thin air, a foot above the ground, as if he'd created an invisible platform.

"Now I'm ready."

The warrior-monks glanced at each other, and as one they launched their assault. It would have been guaranteed to bring any mortal to their knees; the execution was perfect, the combination of magical and physical combat was flawless, and not one of the band faltered. However Will was not mortal.

It came as a shock to the warrior-monks as the air they lunged through seemed to rebel against their bodies and their Gifts – dispersing their spells and flinging them to the ground like pebbles.

The air had a mind of its own and didn't stop there, keeping a constant pressure on them, then becoming heavier so that the warrior-monks found themselves sinking as their bodies made grooves in the earth.

Finally one regained his senses and with one concentrated shove of magic, broke free of his invisible manacles. He rose shakily to his feet, breathing hard, perspiration beading his forehead. Knowing that no straightforward, physical attack would penetrate Will's guard, he leapt into the air, freeing the staff from his back so that he wasn't entirely unarmed.

With his last burst of magical strength he carried himself high into the air, then brought himself down in a momentum-gathering plunge towards Will's head. He had judged that Will must be almost devoid of magic. But Will had barely scratched the surface of the power of the Old Ones.

He raised his eyes as the warrior-monk descended, absorbing every detail – his in-taken breath, his arms swept back, his hands clenching his staff whitely. And then suddenly the details froze and the warrior-monk's dive was checked. His eyes grew round as he found his muscles stiff and unresponsive, his very lungs turned to stone, only his mind untouched.

Then Will blinked, and the warrior-monk, who had been a metre away, dropped to the ground with the rest of his band.

Now they rose, their limbs moving independently of their minds, and Will bowed to them. Master Si-Cham clapped.

"Enough. Thank-you, Will Stanton."

"There's nothing to thank me for." Will released the warrior-monks and looked them over appraisingly. "It was beautifully orchestrated."

"But quite futile," muttered one of the warrior-monks, his voice light, concealing his bitterness and his shame.

Will shrugged. "You can't win them all."

The warrior-monks were awed by Will's effortless display of power, and he could see them biting back questions. He knew that all they could think of was how none of them had been able to lay a finger on him.

"I only hope you never take it into your head to attack the City of the Gods," said one.

"It's not on my to-do list," replied Will.

Master Si-Cham grinned. "We are glad. But now I promised you that I would show you the temple of Mithros, and these monks must return to their duties."

"I have no duties," Thom had appeared out of nowhere, "I'd be happy to accompany the two of you," he offered, smiling, as Master Si-Cham scowled.

The warrior-monks bowed deeply as they took their leave, full of reverence.

Thom fretted silently as they made their way to the temple. He had watched Will duel the warrior-monks in secret, thinking he would learn something of Will's 'true identity' – but he had learnt nothing. But he knew as surely as he knew his name that there was something amiss about Will Stanton. Not just anybody could beat the warrior-monks with such ease. And besides that, Thom's dreams had been hounded by visions of what he had Seen in Will – as though Will's body were just a vessel for the blinding beacon of light within. Yet today was the last day of Will's stay – the last day for Thom to discover his secrets.

Then they had reached the temple of Mithros, and slowly ascended the stone steps at the front to the entrance.

"Tell me about Mithros," said Will softly as they stepped inside.

"He is a warrior god," said Master Si-Cham, "but in the old texts he is depicted always as being a defender, and he has come to symbolise protection to many of his worshippers."

"It's all black and gold here. Only one altar?" murmured Will, "I guess that fits. A soldier lives pretty sparsely. It's only right for a soldiers' temple to be Spartan too."

"It is said, though of course unproven, that the god Mithros is black-skinned and sports golden armour. In reality, gold would be much too soft a metal to bother forging armour out of, and so people who want it settle with gold-plated iron armour," said Thom.

Will, unhearing, stood mesmerised in front of the polished statue of Mithros.

"It only just resembles him," he said at last when he had found his voice, "but for a moment, it was like he was there, staring at me out of those dead eyes." He shivered. _He's been watching me. Every move I've made. Does he approve?_

The mission was once more at the forefront of his mind. Will wondered briefly if that had been Mithros's aim. More importantly, Will knew it was essential to continue with the mission. He must be more focused, more determined.

"It is good that even a man such as yourself can be humbled," said Master Si-Cham. "But I am afraid I must leave you now in order to say the daily prayers."

"Come on, Will," beckoned Thom, "you don't want to hang around to watch that."

Will was taken aback by Thom's derogatory attitude, but Master Si-Cham acted as though he hadn't heard anything, so Will kept his silence.

Thom quizzed Will about his 'other self' as they walked back to his room. It seemed like no matter what Will told him, Thom was never satisfied.

"Alright, if you don't have a secret identity, are you schizophrenic? Is it like having another person in the same body?"

"Yeah, thanks, I do know what schizophrenic means, and no, I'm all me."

"But you're not always the thing with all the power," _The thing?_ thought Will, amused, "It's like a whole other self."

"No," Will answered shortly, "the power is a part of me, an important part of me. But it's often … dormant, I guess you could call it. It's not another person or self, it's just a sense of greater awareness. It's like your mouth or your mind – a piece of you. Just because I'm not always using it, doesn't mean it isn't there."

"But you change!" protested Thom, "Your voice is different, the way you speak!"

"Fundamentally, I'm the same. Maybe the power, when its active or when I'm conscious of it, evokes a certain gravity or seriousness. It's not something I've studied in great detail."

"Huh."

"Look, instead of interrogating me like I'm some kind of criminal, tell me if you've got anything for me to give Alanna." Will told him, feeling much more optimistic about going to Corus and meeting Laughing Nell now.

"Alanna, Alanna…" muttered Thom, "It does so happen I've written a short letter and I managed to scrounge together a present too."

"There's the brother I knew you could be," said Will.

"Yeah, well, tell her I said Happy Birthday."

"Will do."


	11. To Stand Alone

Chapter 11

Will left the City of the Gods early the next morning. The week had flown by much faster than he had expected and the journey back to Corus felt very dull compared with his stay. Thom was definitely an odd character; so like and unlike his twin.

All of a sudden, as he entered Corus, Will saw a commotion and dived. _What's going on? Hold on. Is that … Bantanamo?_

It was. Bantanamo's days as a racehorse had finally come to an end and, as if he knew it, he was kicking up a fuss as a stableman tried to lead him down the street.

Will hid on a rooftop and transformed from bird into man once more. He'd felt a connection with Bantanamo, ever since he'd seen him that day with Laughing Nell. It broke his heart now to see him being taken to his certain death, after having deliberately extended his lifespan.

With a sigh, cursing his conscience, Will made his way to ground-level and to the stableman, who was now shouting into Bantanamo's frothing face:

"Ye stupid horse, it's yer own fault! Ye lost for th' last time! Don't ye throw a tantrum!"

"Hi, sir, I couldn't help but notice you and your horse," Will made his entrance.

"Aye, and what's it t' ye?" asked the stableman suspiciously.

"I want to buy your horse."

"Huh. This old nag? If ye have th' money why not get somethin' that might last ye a year or two?"

"Because I'm not interested in another horse. Look, just tell me the price you're getting from the knacker's, and I'll give you double."

There was a pause. "It's yer funeral."

"Cheers." The exchange made, Will swung himself into the saddle, which the stableman had thrown in for free, and left in search of Laughing Nell. He'd missed her, and they hadn't parted on the best of terms. He hoped she wasn't upset with him for having to leave so abruptly.

An hour later, Will had been everywhere he could think of, and found no trace of her. She was at none of her flower-selling haunts. He'd looked in on all the stalls at the flower market. That only left the Dancing Dove, but she wouldn't be inside on a sunny day like this. It would be bad for business.

Will, worried now, spared no time in reaching the Dancing Dove. On arriving, however, it turned out his hurry had been in vain. He was going to be delayed in his search whether he liked it or not:

"If it ain't th' elusive Will Stanton," greeted the Tortallan King of Thieves. "And on a horse, no less. Tryin' t' fit in with th' nobles are ye?"

"George." Will acknowledged bluntly. "Where's Laughing Nell?"

"Couldn't say," answered the Rogue.

Will bristled. "I know you don't trust me, but at least tell me that much! What do I have to do to earn your trust? Just tell me!"

"Well, as ye have yerself a nag now and ye're such a talented little swordsman, why not ride with us t' root out th' bandits that killed Jamie Bone?"

And now Will saw that around the Rogue was assembled a band of other members of his notorious Court.

"Just give me a sword."

"Huh. Why not?" the Rogue demanded loudly, " 'Fingers! Go get th' Crooked Sword for our volunteer here."

Grinning, Lightfingers slid off his horse and hurried back into the Dancing Dove.

"He won't be a moment," said the Rogue, his eyes glinting dangerously as he regarded Will. Will feigned disinterest, wondering what mischief he was plotting.

Then Lightfingers returned with a long scabbard that, though stained with dust, he carried with the utmost reverence. The Rogue snatched it from him, almost gleefully, and held it out for Will to take the hilt.

"Go on, draw it," he ordered roughly, "I'll not wait all day for ye."

Pursing his lips, Will reached out a hand and grasped the hilt, clenching it tightly in preparation for its weight. Then he sucked in a deep breath, bracing himself, and – the hilt came out easily, and he was staring at the sword's blade, feeling the first surges of anger blossoming in his stomach.

The Crooked Sword was broken, the majority of its blade shorn off in some long-ago battle, in combat with a long-dead foe. All that was left was its time-worn hilt and, projecting out, a jagged shard of metal that reflected his angry eyes back at him in a mockery of his naiveté.

_Control, control,_ whispered the Old One to the man. But his pride would not be placated.

"Is this supposed to mean something?" asked the livid Will, his tone light.

"My, ye are slow t' take a hint," replied the Rogue. "Then for ye, I will speak plain, as I do not take kindly t' half-wits that seek t' waste my time: I don't need a nobody who I can't trust t' keep faith with me in a dangerous situation. Now out of my sight, Will Stanton." The Rogue breathed, to steady himself. Will noticed suddenly that the Rogue was equally as angry, if not more so, as Will himself.

The Rogue finally saw fit to tell Will the dilemma at the heart of his bad-temperedness, muttering sullenly, "Since ye asked, Laughing Nell's caught herself a fever," and as he spoke of it, Will began to understand that the Rogue's anger had been born of helplessness, and that it was shame that had kept him from speaking of it immediately. "It's been burnin' it's way through her th' last three days or so. The healers say she may as well be dead."

Will's hand, still clasped around the hilt of the Crooked Sword, started to shake of its own accord. He didn't notice; his mind was a storm of trembling, his thoughts, compounded with fear, revolting against his sanity. He bit his lip. He had no more room for pity, no more space for tolerance. Especially not for the Rogue. The anger that might have cooled was bubbling, boiling, exploding up his throat and out in a turmoil of words.

"You couldn't tell me this earlier?" shouted Will. He wanted to shout at the Rogue forever, but he could already feel the Old One coming to the surface as his composure unravelled. "What kind of a game are you playing?!"

"No game at all, lad, unless ye think life's a game," replied the Rogue.

"I'll get rid of these bandits for you. You'll take too long." Will said, feeling a deathly cold steal over him. He had committed himself. He couldn't run to Laughing Nell before he finished what he had said he would. "They'll be at the Dancing Dove by sunset. Count on it. Now get back where you can do some good."

"Ha! Ye think ye can round up all them veteran fighters?" sneered the Rogue "Ye, a skinny little runt of a lad, and on that waste of a nag, and no sword to speak of!"

"I know it."

In front of the Rogue, Will Stanton began to blaze from within, until he was hardly Will Stanton at all, and Bantanamo was affected – where once had stood an aged racehorse fit for nothing but the knacker's, there then stood a stallion in the prime of youth. And the Crooked Sword's single broken shard sprouted, tree-like, into a single, long metal branch, honed to exemplary keenness.

"Mithros!" whispered the Rogue.

"No. I am Will Stanton. Mithros only guides me," said Will Stanton the Old One. "Now do as I say. And if anything has happened to Laughing Nell by sunset – you are the man I hold responsible."

The Rogue had slipped off his horse, to his knees. His men stood frozen around him, as though waiting, "Don't kill me," said the Rogue, dumbstruck.

"No. I came here in peace, though all I seem to do is fight." Will looked away. "Let's go, Bantanamo."

And they were gone, racing back the way Will had flown, racing as Bantanamo must have raced long ago on the tracks of Corus.

The Rogue licked his dry lips and staggered to his feet. _Bantanamo_, he thought stupidly, _I know that name_.

"Majesty, aren't we goin' t' go now? We'll never get back before midnight if we don't leave now," said Marek, the Rogue's second-in-command.

"What?" muttered the Rogue, "but didn't you hear what he said? Didn't you see–?" but from their bewildered faces, he knew that they had not. Yet they had been standing around him! _What in the gods' name is Will Stanton?_ The Rogue wondered. _Why don't they remember? And why do I?_

"C'mon," he said wearily, "let's go home. Leave Stanton to it."

Will heard the conversation, though he was far from its location. He was too angry to smile. Had never been so angry.

–

When he came to the place where Duke Roger's men were camped, he appeared to them as a vision of light and strength. He had plucked from their minds their impressions of the black-skinned soldier-god Mithros, and it was as a semblance of all their imaginings that he visited them.

In moments they had fallen prostrate at his feet.

"Lay down your weapons," Will ordered. "If you have horses, mount them. You will all go to Corus, and stand outside the inn called the Dancing Dove. Go now. Be there for sunset, or I will hunt you down, and then you will be sorry."

In minutes the men were on their way. Will scanned the area for real brigands, and sent those he found to Corus also. He had just cleared the way from Corus to the City of the Gods when an unnaturally chill wind made him turn.

It was Duke Roger of Conté.

"Good evening, Watchman." Duke Roger hailed, before riding closer.

"Your Grace," Will watched him scowl at the term. "What brings you here?"

"You, of course, Will Stanton. Who else could drag me away from my duties? You are the one man on this earth able to tear me so successfully away from the attentions of the Lady Delia."

"You flatter me," said Will pleasantly, though inside, where rested the last dreg of his humanity, he still seethed at the Rogue, and this meeting with Duke Roger did not improve his mood. "Please don't let me come between you. I would hate to be the cause of more trouble than I intend."

"Be quiet, Will Stanton, and prepare to be destroyed. My master has given me power beyond imagining. You cannot stand against me."

"You could never match me, Your Grace, even if you became king of the universe, even if you could kill all the gods. Your victory over me is a million even ifs away."

Duke Roger chose to ignore him, and instead spurred his steed into a gallop, charging at Will with deadly intent, his wizard's rod in his hand.

Will blazed brighter than he had blazed in front of the Rogue. Then, he had taken into consideration the weakness of the human eye. Now, relinquishing his hold on his humanity – gladly, for he could not bear the self-inflicted suffering that was engulfing him there – he withheld none of his light, and it was the unrestrained brightness of the Light that spilled out of the pores of his skin. Duke Roger screamed, blinded, but did not pause in his rush.

The wizard's rod caught Will's shoulder, swinging him round, but Bantanamo swung with him and Will kept his seat. A bolt of orange light sprayed into Will's unprotected back, once again almost sending him flying forwards out of the saddle, though the bolt itself caused him no pain, just irritation. _He has gotten more powerful, just as he said_. Duke Roger might not have been able to see, but Will's Light penetrated even his blindness so that he could make out a shimmering outline amidst the black background of his sightlessness.

But Will was beyond playing games now. He was the Watchman, and the Watchman had no concept of kindness. Whatever power Duke Roger believed he had gained, Will would show him how little it really was.

Bantanamo circled, so that Duke Roger was always in Will's sights, and couldn't launch any surprise attacks.

Then Will started fulminating.

Duke Roger could see the thunderbolts well before they struck, because they were made of pure Light, and shone as Will shone. But he still could not avoid them. They were too swift for human eyes to track.

Duke Roger was blasted squarely in the forehead and in the chest, and found himself thrown violently from his horse.

He made bruising contact with the ground, and found his body ached from magic-usage and physical exertion. He had overreached himself, and could endure no more. He cursed silently, his eyes stinging, the nerves in his body shrieking with every breath he took. Their battle had lasted less than ten minutes.

"Count yourself lucky, Your Grace, for crossing me once more, and for once more not being dead. You will not be lucky a third time."

"What?" groaned Duke Roger, feeling cheated and insulted, "Am I not worthy of death by your hand? Are you too noble for the likes of a King's nephew?"

"No. I have business elsewhere. Business more important than you. But if you are so glad to die, perhaps you will wait here, and in an hour or so I will return to despatch you from this world for good."

Then Bantanamo, still bearing the Watchman, wheeled around and sped for Corus. The sun had begun its descent in the sky, and Laughing Nell awaited him.

Duke Roger didn't wait for Will to get back. He was long gone before his hour was up.

–

Will was at her bedside long before the sun set fully. She was only semi-conscious and, as the Rogue had said, ravaged by fever.

He took her hand in his, and sent his power into her. He didn't know if she was aware that he was with her, or if she had wanted him to be with her. He had never been to her flat before, and it was very small. But he didn't care about that just then. Only Laughing Nell mattered.

He could feel death waiting at the edges of the bed, waiting for the first sign of weakness in the bonds between soul and body. Will had arrived in time, but barely. He could already feel another consciousness beginning to take form in the corner of the room, and knew by feel alone that it was death, called in Tortall the Black God.

Will tried to collect himself. Tried to think clearly, and suppress the wailing in his gut, the panicking and the total isolation that threatened to unnerve him. He must succeed. He must have no doubts, must settle all contrary thoughts and focus on this task–

The door burst open. The Rogue stood at the entrance to the room, arms akimbo, mouth open in a pale red 'o' of distress. His tall figure seemed to shrivel and dwindle in size when he saw Will; the shadows of the on-coming night wrapping around him like a shroud, making him seem ghoulish and skeletal. For a moment he didn't move, his lips tracing silent words in the air.

"I –" he faltered and recovered quickly, his eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but at Will. Then words were spilling off his tongue, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know what t' do. I just didn't know."

The Rogue reached a hand to his face, as if to physically tear the guilt out of his mind. He trembled once, and was again composed.

"I'm th' Rogue," he whispered, the sadness in his voice magnified by the silence of the room, "I'm king. But there's nothin' I can do! Not when th' gods decide t' pull somethin' like this. I can't stop the gods."

He drew in a deep, steadying breath. "I sent for those of th' Court with a strong Gift, with skill in healing – but it happened too fast. They were powerless. It's not just her. A lot in th' district caught it. She's not th' first, nor th' last. She's just th' unlucky. It ain't often it gets so bad, so serious. Most get well. It is a common disease around this time of year, for those of us in th' slums."

The Rogue stepped into the room finally, and Will saw clearly now his haggard face and bloodshot eyes. The Rogue was suffering.

"I know I should've told ye. Got word. Somethin'. I just didn't think – I – I thought I could handle it. _Had_ t' handle it. And I – I didn't know th' extent of yer Gift. I didn't think ye could help. T' be honest, I didn't want yer help neither."

Will felt oddly insensitive and unreceptive towards the Rogue's obvious discomfort. He wondered if it was because he was so numb himself that he was beyond caring for the pain of others.

"I believe – I believe I have been so selfish. So foolish. Th' thought that I may have cost her –" the Rogue swallowed bitterly, the words too grave to say. " – everything." He settled for. "It kills me."

The Rogue let his gaze drift down to encase Laughing Nell. He shuddered again, then willed himself to speak.

"I am not an emotional man, Will Stanton, but I loved her. Not as ye do. But I loved her all th' same. So I know what it is that I must say t' you. Please let me say it, and do not interrupt, because I have rummaged in my mind for these words for hour upon hour, and though I know they are not perfect, they speak from th' depths of my soul."

The Rogue glanced quickly at Will to check for his reaction, to see whether it was favourable of derisive. But Will's face was a blank slate, and the Rogue could not guess at his emotions. Will kept his silence and listened to the fruit of the Rogue's labours.

"Nell was always wantin' me t' make things good between us, and it's my folly that it took me so long t' see th' wisdom of her words. She trusted ye, Will Stanton, and I trusted her. Th' least I can do is extend that trust t' ye. Just tell me what t' do, and I'll do it."

Will looked at Laughing Nell, grown stiff and pallid on her straw-stuffed mattress, and found almost suddenly that a nail had been driven into his heart, and lay wedged there, fastened in the entrails of his love. The Rogue's words only twisted the nail more viciously, and made the wound cry with pain.

Will knew no words eloquent enough to describe the torment of his heart or the gaping void in his soul. But there was fire in his brain, laying waste to ethics and self-restraint, overwhelming the cries of the Old One, and Will wanted to fight, to hurt, to hate – and then there were words on his burning tongue.

"Fuck off." Will said.

The repentant Rogue looked at him, shocked out of his misery, his face an astonished question.

"Fuck off!"

The Rogue's eyebrows knit together in fury, then un-knit in sorrow, and understanding. His shoulders sagged.

"I'm sorry. I really–"

"FUCK OFF."

The Rogue stepped backwards towards the door and then their eyes alit, together, on the Crooked Sword leaning against its frame. The Rogue, with the air of someone reclaiming a prized possession, bent down to retrieve it. But Will's patience had snapped. With a soft _poof_ the sword disintegrated; innumerable flakes of ash fluttering where it had lain. The Rogue recoiled, snatching back his hand, but not before it had been coated in a fine layer of ash. For a moment he stared, horrified, at the sorry grey pile; all that remained of the Crooked Sword. Then the Rogue was gone. Will dimly heard him clattering down the stairs to the street below.

A rasping breath made Will look back at Nell, his thoughts haphazard and frenzied.

He felt his heart turn cold.

The Black God stood opposite him, on the other side of Nell's mattress.

Will felt the feverish shaking of his limbs and the sweating of his palms come to an abrupt end, to be replaced with a calm so odd and out-of-place that he knew he could not be himself.

The Rogue's words echoed in his mind:

_I can't stop the gods._

Another heavy, agonising breath sounded in the tense silence as Nell fought to live.

"She's not dead yet," said Will.

"In time, my immortal brother," replied the Black God, his spiritual presence gaining substance.

"Not when time belongs to me!"

The Black God shrugged. "Time has a nasty habit of running out on you. Look, already she stands at the gateway to the Peaceful Realms."

Will looked. Nell inhaled, wheezing; the painful rattling of the air in her windpipe making him wince.

_She's struggling, though she stands so close to death she hears its whispers in her ear, hushing the beat of her heart, coaxing her soul from her corpse. She's still fighting not to cross the threshold of that other world. Why aren't I fighting too?!_

He refused to return the Black God's stare. He knew that if he did he would lose what little defiance he had regained, and spiral into chaos. He turned his thoughts inward instead, and sent his power out, down his arm, his fingers crossing with hers; a bridge between their bodies.

_I'll chase this disease out. I'll graft time on to your life. I'll not let you go._

_The Rogue can't stop the gods._

_I can._


	12. The Morning After

Chapter 12

Just to be beside her, within the catacombs of her mind and body, ensconced in the familiarity of her self, Will found himself regaining his humanity. When he had given it up, it had been without regret, and he had not expected to have it returned. Perhaps it was because now he was making an active difference, and because now he had a better idea of Laughing Nell's condition, and he dared to hope that she would recover.

All around him, the Black God's presence whispered to the fears in his soul, crying out for them to rise up and make Will stumble. But he clamped the treacherous emotions in his will of iron; he was damned if he let them free, damned to the most relentless of psychological tortures ever meted out to man, if, for a moment, fear overtook his brain and in that one cowardly moment Nell was lost forever.

Will refused the urging in the darkness of his soul; kept his attention averted from the god of eternity: He would not let her go.

Then, deep inside her body, as he hunted the fever out, he felt her awaken, felt her recognition and her surprise. He sensed her thoughts only as a whole. They were a jumble. But foremost, and aimed quite directly at him, was an impression of questions that in words might have been; _how in th' goddess's name did ye get inside of me like this? And how dare ye leave and go off t' th' City of th' Gods without sayin' bye t' me! Don't even think of makin' a habit out of it!_ And finally, not a question, _ye better be there when I open my eyes, or so help me, I'll_–

Will withdrew from her as her eyelids flickered apart. He hugged her, tightly, never wanting to let her go.

"Will, sweetheart," she said eventually, clearly pleased by this declaration of affection, "ye're smotherin' me."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Lie down. Sleep. Tomorrow you'll be as good as new."

"And ye'll go disappearin' off th' minute I get t' sleep, without tellin' me goodbye, again, will ye?" She kept her eyes trained carefully away from his now, lest he see her downcast spirit clouding them.

"No," said Will evenly, "I'm going to sit here all night, until the Black God standing in the corner decides he ought to go."

"Goddess, ye can see him? Was I that close?" asked Laughing Nell, and when Will didn't answer, "… is it safe?"

"He won't touch you. I promise." Will said, with a steely certainty that made Nell wonder to what lengths he would go to keep this vow. He turned his gaze on her. She lay down. "Goodnight."

"Stayin' all night?" she made sure. "In that chair?"

"Yes." Will said firmly, in a voice that would brook no argument. "Longer, if he's still here in the morning."

"G'night then."

Will stood guard at her side all night. The Black God disappeared some hours before dawn. Will decided not to leave, after all, the night was almost over. It was only as dawn's first rays cleared the horizon that he remembered what the day was.

He woke Laughing Nell hurriedly, and as she blinked and started to rub her eyes, whispered, "It's OK. Don't get up, I just wanted to say goodbye." He kissed her cheek, and made to leave, but she caught his arm before he even took a step towards the door.

"Will?" she muttered sleepily, "Get back here."

"Here, sweetheart."

That made her smile. "Have I _ever_ heard ye say that? Never mind," she yawned. "Is yer head alright?"

"What do you mean?" Will was completely taken off guard.

"Yer head. I – last time, I – when I hit ye, I mean. Ye were bleedin' and ye were in too much of a rush t' let me look at it. Ye must still have a black eye, I would've seen it last night if I hadn't been so tired. I'm sorry."

"Oh, that." Will smiled, "That was nothing, Nell, I hardly felt it. It's all gone now. There's nothing to be sorry about. You got angry, things happen."

"But – it was only a week ago. How can it have already healed? How can ye be so laid-back about it all?"

Will took her hand and squeezed it. "I'm a fast healer. Don't worry about it. Besides, haven't I just spent all this week in the City of the Gods? The wizards probably had competitions to see who could heal me without my noticing." He let her hand go. "I have to go back to the palace now. I'll see you around."

"Bye, sweetheart."

Laughing Nell sighed when he had left and sank deeper into her bed. Red had told her to forget Will when she'd seen how unhappy Nell was. Red had said he wasn't worth it if he kept vanishing off to places. At the time, Laughing Nell had agreed. But then Will had come in her moment of need. She wished Red had seen him, but Red had been praying in the Temple District ever since her health had turned critical. Nell rubbed her forehead. She was still no closer to understanding Will Stanton. It was annoying, but, at the same time – thrilling.

-

Spring had come to an end, and Alanna's seventeenth birthday had arrived. She rose and dressed before dawn, then made her way to the underground levels and the Chapel of the Ordeal.

She sat and stared at the iron doors of the Chamber. Hours passed her by as she sat and stared, deep in thought. The place struck terror in her, the like of which she had never before known. Was becoming a knight worth the trauma she would endure within the Chamber? Would the experience of the Chamber, which she must suffer for a night in order to become that which she, for years, had strived to become, prove her unworthy of the honour? Such thoughts and countless others drained away her hope and left her bereft, like a woman lately widowed who cannot see anything beyond her despair.

Then Will Stanton came in and sat next to her.

"This looks fun," he said, "can I join you?"

"Don't joke about this," Alanna sighed. "There's only a year and a half left till I have to go in there."

"In a hundred years, who will care?" asked Will.

"No one, probably."

_Cat, you wouldn't mind getting Prince Jonathan or someone, would you?_ Will asked Faithful silently. _I've had a long night. I don't know if I'm in the right state of mind to be cheering her up._

_Already gone, _was the reply.

"So what's there to worry about?" Will continued out loud, "You can muck it all up, and in the long run it won't matter."

"Will, in a hundred years I'll be dead so I won't care about anything! What I care about is the here and the now!"

"And is your ordeal now?"

"Well, no, but it's a lot closer to now than a hundred years is." Alanna sighed, "did you know Duke Gareth lost his finger in the Chamber of the Ordeal when he became a knight? And Jon still has dreams about it. I hear him crying out in his sleep."

"How bad could it be?"

"That's what I ask myself! But you have to take an oath of silence, so there's no one to ask. What could make a grown man cry? What am I up against? What if I'm not good enough?"

"Then you're not good enough, and that's the end of it. The biggest obstacle you'll ever have to get past is yourself. You have to beat your fears, beat your doubts, until there's nothing left to be scared of. That's all this chamber will teach you."

"You're not a knight, Will. This isn't something you can understand."

"I don't have to be a knight. What's a knight anyway, when it comes down to it? An elite soldier of the crown is but an aspect, a detail of the knight. A knight is also the person who rises above the common man, a defender of the helpless. But how do you expect a knight is any of those things, unless he looks inside himself first and finds the perseverance and the craving to become such a person? You already have these qualities – you wouldn't be where you are now otherwise. That's all the chamber is, a test to separate the determined from the irresolute!"

"Will, shut up. You're not the one facing the Ordeal. You just don't get it." Alanna told him tiredly. "Don't make things worse."

"Alright, I'm going," Will mumbled, seeing Faithful returning. "Here's a birthday present from Thom by the way. And one from me."

He left the parcels sitting beside her on the pew.

-

Alanna came to find him later. He was polishing his sword-fighting skills alone in the practice yard behind the smithy.

"Thanks for sitting with me, Will," she told him apologetically. "I was stressing. I know you just wanted to help."

"What're you doing watching me practise to kill people?" Will asked her, mid-swing, amused. "It's your birthday. Go do something you want to do for a change. G'won, while no one's ordering you around."

"I just wanted to say sorry for not listening to you–"

"Quick, get out of here, I can see Captain Aram coming! He'll think I've been chatting to you all evening!" Will sweated.

"–and thanks for the earrings. I wish I'd thought of sending a gift to Thom when you went. I feel pretty bad–"

"Go, go, go!"

"Alright, I know when I'm not wanted," Alanna laughed.

"Have a special night! Do something nice!"

"Not likely! I don't have anyone to go out with, there's another party at the palace, so everyone worth spending time with will be there trying to get a dance with Lady Delia!"

"Maybe you should attend as a girl."

"As if!"


	13. To Be A Gentleman

Chapter 13

"So what's your reason for being here, again, Will?" Alanna asked. It was a week after her birthday, and Will had noticed a change in her.

"Captain Aram felt I needed an evening off. Said I haven't been the same since my mother's funeral." Will replied, unthinking, then mentally cursed himself. He hadn't intended to tell her the excuse he'd used to travel to the City Of The Gods.

"Your mother? Oh Goddess, I'm so sorry Will! I thought you didn't have any family here!"

"I don't." Will smoothed down his smart blue tunic. He felt very out of place.

"Why didn't you say?"

"Sir Alan, give it a rest. I don't want to talk about it." Will muttered. He'd never been to a ball before. And this one was particularly spectacular since it was happening at the palace, and many nobles were present. He felt a little shabby next to all their fine clothes and glittering jewellery.

"I'm actually really glad you're here," Alanna confided. "These things are so boring usually. I'll tell you who to watch out for. Don't go near the lord in red, he's one of Duke Roger's sympathisers. And Delia, she's _poison_, watch out for her–"

"Will Stanton, is it?" Will turned around, and felt the breath in his lungs get stolen away in a rush wonder. The young woman in front of him was beautiful, with flowing chestnut hair and twinkling green eyes, and full red lips. He felt Alanna leave without seeing her go. Who was this woman?

"Yes I am. And yourself, ma'am?"

The woman laughed, a tinkly, delicate laugh. "Lady Delia of Eldorne."

"An honour to meet you," Will sketched a bow. So this was Lady Delia.

"I've been looking forward to talking to you ever since you fought Aram Sklaw. You are very popular in Corus, the talk of the court. And now I've seen you in person, I can say I wasn't disappointed."

"Thank you. You are very beautiful, Lady Delia," he paused, "that was supposed to be a compliment, but you must have been told it so often that it's become meaningless, and is no longer a compliment at all. So I take it back. Besides, beauty is worth nothing without the mind and soul to accompany it." Was he insulting her? How did he find the courage? He was beneath her – he should be grovelling for her attention, not shunning it.

"How profound. And you an apprentice soldier. Have you assumed that I possess only beauty and neither of those other traits?"

"I assume nothing. And I would not presume to test you."

"Presume away. I give you my permission." Delia told him, feeling strangely intrigued by Will Stanton's dismissive attitude. She wanted to find out more about this young man, who wouldn't respond to her attention, and who Duke Roger feared.

"Really?" His look of surprise was charming. Was she getting light-headed? She hadn't drunk that much yet, the night was still young. No, it was because she'd got one over on him by saying the unexpected.

"If you'll dance with me."

"If you _can_ dance." Now he was definitely getting above his station, but Delia couldn't bring herself to slap him and ruin her good mood. She couldn't believe it, but she was enjoying herself – no one spoke to her like this.

"Just try and keep up," she told him as the court musicians started playing a faster melody, and his return smile was more than reward enough for stomaching his insult.

Will couldn't dance, and even if he could, he wouldn't have been able to learn the intricate court dances in time for his dance with Delia, so he was forced to call up the Old One in order to keep step and save face.

The dance was crazily rapid and lasted several minutes, during which Will could barely think. It took all his concentration to flow with the rhythm and follow through all the twirls and backsteps and twists. There weren't many couples dancing to this melody, and Will was uncomfortably aware that he was being watched by several young nobles. There was Alanna, too, watching him with a disturbing mixture of amazement and disgust. Will didn't want to look at anyone else after that.

The fast melody ended, replaced with a quieter, slower tune. Delia danced close, in his arms. They were both perspiring, but Will didn't ask to get a drink. He didn't want to get swamped by jealous young nobles.

_A test of mind and soul_, Will puzzled.

"So then. What is the fastest bird in the world?"

"The peregrine falcon. But that shouldn't count, should it? Who could be expected to know something like that unless they were a specialist? It was just by luck that I knew."

"Alright, fair enough, but that was the right answer anyway. Now tell me ... what is love?"

"That's confusing. It all depends on your point of view, doesn't it? There's no right answer. I mean, is love instant or something you have to think about? A feeling or a state of mind? Does it just happen? And what are you falling in love with, anyway? Mind or body or both? And do you get different levels of love, like serious and casual? I mean you love your family and your friends, but isn't that different to loving, say, a handsome young man? Is love passive or physical? And is it even an emotion or something deeper, more instinctive? Can you fall in love more than one time? People talk about having the love of their life, but how do they decide that? Could anyone potentially be the love of your life, given the right circumstances? And then how genuine is it really, if it's so chancy? Or is love god-given and not a choice at all, which doesn't seem fair."

"Well you've obviously had a lot of time to think about that one." Will told her, a little taken aback. "How about this: do happiness and material wealth go hand in hand?"

Delia paused. "People say wealth isn't everything, but isn't wealth indicative of success? And if, say, your one goal was to be the greatest soldier, and you succeeded in becoming that, wouldn't you be happy? And wouldn't you also have amassed a certain amount of wealth? So if wealth is success, and success is happiness, then don't wealth and happiness go together?"

Will chewed his lip. "That's an interesting take."

"Is it really." Delia said dryly. "And how are you finding court-life? Is it to your tastes?"

"As much as anything can be. A court is a court. I have little time for it."

"Of course you wouldn't. You spend all your time with Captain Aram Sklaw. And little Squire Alan."

"He's not so little anymore. And he's better company than His Grace the Duke of Conté. I hear you are often with him. That is, when you aren't toying with these noble boys."

"So you do know something about me. What can I say? There is little fun to be had as a noble lady. I take what opportunities I have."

"Playing with young men's hearts is hardly innocent fun."

"You don't approve? I didn't expect you would. I'm not having so much fun now as it happens, the Prince has been keeping his distance the past week. Fate is fickle like that," now Will understood. Alanna mysteriously changed, and Prince Jonathan suddenly celibate? It made sense.

Lady Delia brought him back to the present; "Well, have you finished your questions on mind and intellect? Did I pass? I wouldn't advise you to start asking for signs of my soul. I'll tell you now, if a soul is meant to be pure, then I don't have one anymore."

Will looked troubled. "Everyone has a soul. Some people just cover theirs up with bad deeds, and forget they have it. A soul is more than purity and innocence, it's life itself."

"Then I am dead." said Lady Delia, without a trace of remorse. "And I died a long time ago."

"Did Duke Roger never try and help you?"

"Why would he? Lord Roger is the one I gave up my soul for. I live what's left of my life for him now."

"Is he so great? What did he do to deserve that kind of loyalty?"

"He is beyond great. You cannot imagine what drives me to be what I am, to do what I do. He is everything to me."

The dance ended. Lady Delia was bemused as to how Will had provoked such truthfulness from her. Will was just as perplexed. He had expected Lady Delia to be more devious – more like Duke Roger had turned out to be. He sighed. He had underestimated the one and overestimated the other.

"Go back to your admirers, Lady Delia. They wait for you."

"Do you not number among them, then, Will Stanton?" and for a moment she found herself hoping.

"Of course not, Lady Delia. But this was nice. Farewell." She watched Will sketch another informal, impolite bow, then disappear into the throng of dancers. She sighed and turned away. He had been so different. So unflatteringly honest. He had treated her as though she was his equal, he had spoken to her as a man would speak to another man. How strange.

Now where was Prince Jonathan?

–

Will made his way off the dance-floor to a side window where he could see Alanna sitting.

"Hello, you want a drink?"

"Huh? Oh it's you, Will. Thanks," she took the glass he offered.

"You bored?"

"Do you even need to ask? I don't know why Jon insists on making me attend." She took a sip of wine. "You looked like you were having fun though. Dancing with the pretty Lady Delia."

"To be honest with you, she scared me."

"Mother, are you a man or a mouse? She's a brainless flirt. What's there to be frightened of?"

Will took a seat next to her. "She's not so brainless."

"Oh please, did she wrap you round her little finger too?"

"She's smart. She has a purpose for being here. And she's tied in with Duke Roger. She's a killer."

"That's what they all say."

"No, that's not what I meant. I saw in her eyes … she's not afraid to kill."

"Don't be silly. She's a powder puff walking around in a low-cut dress. She doesn't know the meaning of killing. Her whole life's been sheltered."

"I dunno…"

"_I_ know." Alanna said. "And I don't like her. She's a snake. Stay away from her."

"I was going to. A powder puff walking around in a low-cut dress, huh? Everything you're not."

"Hey! I'm _damn_ glad I'm not like her! I'm doing what I want to do. I won't be weak like her!" Alanna was furious. "Do you know I've killed men? I was killing men before I even turned sixteen! Do you understand what that means?"

Will frowned. He hadn't meant to incite this outburst. "No." he said. "I have never killed anyone." He looked out the window. It was dark outside, and stars were coming out. "I hope I never have to."

"Death is a part of life. To die in battle is honourable." Alanna said.

"I'm sure it is."

"I've seen the dying on a deserted battlefield. But their screams didn't sound honourable to me." Alanna's head was bowed.

"Fighting is not the most pleasant of trades to be in."

"It is my trade. I chose it. It's what I wanted. What I still want." Now her eyes shone.

"It's OK to change. Time's funny like that. It does things to people."

"I don't want to change. I want to be a knight and have adventures. I just don't enjoy the killing side of it."

"That's OK too."

"I miss being feminine too, you know? I guess not."

"I think I can understand. All these young women in their pretty dresses, and you're stuck here on the sidelines."

"In my chamber I have a chest of women's stuff you know. I don't look really pretty in it, but I like wearing it anyway. At the same time, I can't let all this womanly junk hold me back."

"I don't think it does."

Alanna looked at him. "You're alright, Will, you know. I think I can count on you."

"Course you can. Duke Roger won't last long now."

"That's not what I was talking about." Alanna glanced at him, "is that all you ever think about? Duke Roger bothers me a lot, but sometimes I can forget. You never forget, do you?"

"No. Sorry. It's all I'm here for."

"Goddess. I know you must be someone powerful, to stand up to him, but all you've really done is comfort me when I'm being stupid."

"Having doubts isn't being stupid. And anyway, that's part of the job, isn't it? All I'm doing is shaking him. You'll be the one to remove him for good, Alanna. And when the time comes, you won't have any doubts."

"You make it sound so simple. Why can't you be the one to fight Duke Roger? Isn't that also part of why you're here?"

"I've fought him already, sort of. I won't be here for the final battle, as it were."

"Where will you be?"

"Who knows?"

Alanna sighed, aggravated. "_You_ know, you're just not telling me!"

"Home, I s'pose, if I'm anywhere."

"Where's that? South of Carthak?"

"Could be."

Alanna groaned. Then her face suddenly brightened. "Look, it's Myles!"

"Sir Myles," Will greeted him. Sir Myles nodded.

"He hates these things as much as I do."

"Indeed," said Sir Myles. "Will Stanton, squire Alan has told me how well you play chess. I don't suppose you might grace me with a game?"

Will had no idea what hurdles Sir Myles had had to overcome to bring himself to request a game. But Alanna had been so full of praise for Will's skill, in the end he hadn't been able to pass up the chance.

"It would be my pleasure, sir." Will said.


	14. Ill Fated Night

Chapter 14

"Does he have to die, master?" she asked, her voice carrying an undertone of amazement. "He seemed so harmless the other night. Nothing like I expected. Surely he doesn't pose a threat to you or your plans? What could he do?"

"You have no idea, Delia. Will Stanton is so much more than he appears. Don't let his innocence fool you." Roger, Duke of Conté, replied, his handsome face made ugly with hatred. "Not that he could do anything to ruin my plans. Don't tell me you're having misgivings about my judgement, my dear?"

"No! Never, master! No one has more faith in you than me. I only wondered…"

"Then stop wondering. All you have to do is what I say, pretty one. I choose who dies and who lives. And Will Stanton must die. Don't question me again."

-

"Hey, you alright?" Will called, surprising Nell with flowers.

"And who're ye, charmer?" as she turned around, Will saw the young woman wasn't Laughing Nell at all – the Nell he knew had long black curls, and in the twilight he had mistaken her for this person. He saw now that this woman – who was looking at him very strangely – had auburn hair.

Then the woman started laughing.

"Hey Nell! Is this th' guy ye was tellin' me about?" she yelled.

A window, two storeys above street level, popped open and Laughing Nell poked her head out.

"Aye, that's Will," then, "Hey, are those flowers for me? Huh, I thought ye only had time for Lady Delia now."

"What?" Will asked, then realised what she was talking about. _How could she know about that? Hold on, she's in the Court of the Rogue, what am I saying? But still … I'm surprised it got back to them so fast_. "I only met her, it didn't mean anything."

"I heard ye danced with her half th' night," Laughing Nell's friend grinned, obviously out to stir things up.

"It wasn't a choice! And besides, it was only two or three dances. I didn't want to." Will explained desperately.

"Didn't want to? Ye was getting' on like a house on fire, was what I heard." Nell's annoying friend again. Will felt like gagging her.

"So we talked, so what? When you talk to a noble, you're not really talking you're just–" he gestured, momentarily lost for words, then continued; "pretending to talk. You can't be yourself."

"Not t' yer tastes, were they? Returnin' t' th' lower classes now, are ye then?" Nell's friend. Mocking him.

"Who are you?" Will asked finally, angrily.

Laughing Nell bounded out into the street, laughing, and moving to hug him. "Ignore her, she's just havin' fun, sweetheart. Don't be so serious all th' time, will ye?" Will felt his anger dissipating, just knowing that Nell wasn't actually upset with him. "This's Red Nell, my flat mate and business partner, and th' nearest thing I've got t' a sister on this side of life."

Red Nell winked at him. "So ye better not hurt my Nell," she said, "or I'll have t' come and kill ye."

Will looked at Laughing Nell for reassurance, "She's joking, right?"

"Course, sweetheart. She knows I'd kill ye myself if ye did somethin' really stupid like, I don't know, betray th' Rogue."

Will frowned and said, "I won't be here long enough for that," which made both Nells exchange looks and frown.

"Well, have a good time, Nell," said Red Nell, breaking up the sombre atmosphere.

"No doubt. What time are ye stayin' up till?"

"Same old, same old. I don't let myself have as much fun as ye. I'll be workin' till around six in th' morning. Depends how busy it is. Make sure ye don't make too much noise when ye get back, or ye might attract customers' attention."

Laughing Nell nodded. "Don't I know it."

"And if yer Will Stanton starts getting' fresh, make sure he knows he'll have t' pay." Red Nell joked. At least, Will thought she was joking. "Oh, and if ye see any potential customers–" but Laughing Nell was already nodding, grinning.

"I know, I know, Red, don't worry about it. Business always comes first. I could've sworn that used t' be my line as well."

Red Nell laughed. "See ye then."

Will felt uncomfortable as they left. "I guess – I guess business means…"

"Aye. Aye, it does," Laughing Nell finished his sentence for him. "I know it bothers ye. But we need money, and it's not th' worst of professions t' be in."

"Hm."

"Cheer up, would ye? It might never happen."

Troubled, he forced a smile and draped an arm around her and she kissed him. "At least not with you around," he said, smiling properly.

"I heard ye beat old Sir Myles of Olau at chess. Ye think sometime ye could teach me?"

"Do you know everything?" asked Will, once again shocked by how well the Court of the Rogue had infiltrated the palace.

Laughing Nell smiled. "Only about ye. George ain't so interested in th' others, apart from Duke Roger and squire Alan. And obviously King Roald and his family. How's yer whole project with Duke Roger goin' anyway?"

Will's brow furrowed.

"Ye know what? Forget I even asked. I don't want t' know particularly, and I don't want ye thinkin' th' only reason I asked is so I can pass it back t' George."

"No. It's alright. Twice now I've come up against him, and I couldn't kill him."

"Twice, is it? So ye've blown yer cover? Why is it ye're not imprisoned, or worse, dead?" Nell asked, as much worried as relieved.

"Because I'm Will Stanton, Aram Sklaw's sensational apprentice, and that makes me almost untouchable. And because he has no proof; Duke Roger's word alone isn't good enough. And because," he glanced at Nell, smiling wryly, "he knows I can't be killed."

Laughing Nell rolled her eyes and sighed, "I don't know if ye're bein' big-headed or if there's actually some truth in it. Ye know I can't just go and believe ye though, coz no man's immortal."

"No. Alright. I'm with you there." Will agreed.

"Well, then," said Nell triumphantly, "And why're ye not bound up in some secret dungeon? I can't believe th' Duke's just lettin' ye run around if he knows ye're out t' make mischief for him."

"Because he can't. He can't catch me, and even if he did, he couldn't hold me for long."

"By the Crooked God, I swear there's no one quite like ye on earth." Nell declared, "Nobodies aren't s'posed t' go around makin' enemies outta nobles. And 'specially not nobles with royal connections. Ye're mad, Will, I hope ye know that."

"Could be. You're not really upset with me for dancing with Delia, are you? You know I don't care about her."

"Sure I'm jealous. Ye'd never dance with me, would ye? I mean, ye wouldn't know th' steps. Ye've only learnt th' posh dances. Ye couldn't hold yer own in a real club."

"That's bollocks. That wouldn't stop me. I'd make a fool out of myself for you any time," Will grinned, feeling reckless. _You were jealous? I didn't know you cared so much … I'll make tonight a night to remember, just you watch._ "C'mon, show us the nearest club. Delia only got two or three dances. I'll dance with you till you drop."

"Well, if ye really want, there's this place just down th' road. It's pretty respectable. But only if ye don't mind."

"I think I like the sound of it already. Lead the way." _No going back now._

The club was dimly-lit, with coloured oil lamps in the ceiling and around the edges of the club at little tables. A band played on a raised platform near the back, and to one side was a bar. It was a small club, and it was packed with people dancing and drinking.

The atmosphere here was a lot more pleasant than the one at the ball he had been at. It had been much tenser there, as if everyone was watching for mistakes. Here, no one cared. And the dances weren't set in stone, there was room for variation and creativity, and sometimes songs with no prescribed dances were played, and everything was freelance.

Will took the club in with a glance and felt his spirit rush.

_Whoo!_

And Laughing Nell was calling to him, tugging his hand, "C'mon, Will! This is my favourite song!"

–

Nell collapsed against him, laughing breathlessly.

"This is awesome!"

"You never get tired, do you? You know I was joking when I said I could dance till the sun came up? I was just caught up in the song!" Will protested, panting.

Laughing Nell pulled him close and kissed him fiercely. "C'mon then, I'll get ye a drink, and we'll see how ye feel after that."

Some time later a tipsy Will was picking nobels out of thin air to pay for their drinks. He'd had one too many cocktails and now he wanted a shot because he found they made him feel less drunk.

"Do you have tequila here?" he was asking.

"Never heard of it," Nell told him. "Let's go for a walk outside. Ye look like ye could use one."

"Sure," Will let her lead him out of the club. The cool night air was refreshing. He hadn't realised how hot it was inside the club.

"Do you like stars?" he asked Laughing Nell, who gave him an odd look. He laughed at her. "The stars here are different to the ones above my home. But I know them all." He tore his gaze away from the sky and fixed it on Nell. "D'you know, there's nothing that I _don't_ know?"

"No one knows everythin', Will," Nell said, linking her arm in his.

"I'll show you your star," Will told her.

"The Laughing Star? I always forget which one it is."

"It ripples, on the night when there is no moon. Some old man decided to christen it Laughing because of that." Will looked up again. "It's hard to see it from here. But it tends to be near the moon. There!"

Though gazing at the stars, out of the corners of his eyes, Will thought he saw shadows moving stealthily towards Nell and him. But who would cause trouble here, in the middle of the city, even at this late hour? He silenced his fears, telling himself he was being paranoid. He was with Laughing Nell. He wanted to enjoy himself, not be looking over his shoulder all night.

This was his mistake.

A second later, he came to regret it deeply, as he was grabbed, knocked over the head, and dragged out of the main street. He tried to cry out to Nell, to see if she was alright, wanting desperately to know that she had been left untouched.

His attackers, hearing his muffled shouts, slammed him into what felt like a wall. Will's eyes lost their focus, and he slid into beckoning darkness, out like a light.

-

Will found himself in the centre of an empty plane that stretched away in all directions, as far as his eye could see. There were no trees, just a sea of short grass. Will felt like sitting down, but decided against it. There was no sun here; there was no telling what kind of a place it was.

"Watchman."

He jerked around, startled.

A shining man stood behind him.

"Mithros." Will greeted. "Are you here to give me some advice? Am I doing something wrong? There've been so many times I've wanted to ask your counsel."

"No, Watchman," Mithros sighed. "You have done everything in your power that was possible for you to do. I am here to give you news that you are in sore need of."

"Like how I got here? I wouldn't mind knowing that."

"Ah. So you don't remember." Mithros paused to pick his words. "You were with a woman. Men call her Laughing Nell. Then you were ambushed by some mercenaries, hired by Duke Roger of Conté, emissary of the Dark in Tortall."

"Is she alright?" asked Will, beginning to recall the previous night. "Did they hurt her?" he could feel protective anger boiling up inside of him. _If they dared…_

"No," said Mithros. "They only wanted you. And they were surprised at how easily you were caught."

"I was distracted." _Though that is hardly an excuse_, Will thought, knowing that it had been a light rebuke.

"No doubt," agreed Mithros, not looking Will in the eye. "This is not the issue, however. You have fallen into dire peril. It is likely that you will be blasted out of time."

Will's eyebrows rose. "Are you sure? Is there nothing I can do?" when Mithros was silent; "I'm sorry."

"There is nothing to apologise for. The Dark has been more cunning than I gave credit for. There is little chance for you to escape. It depends entirely on how clever and how careful they will be from now on."

Will thought, then said: "I don't understand what makes you so sure it's too late to turn this around in favour of the Light."

"It is Rissena of the Dark. She is one of the greater Lords of the Dark, called The Relentless, and I did not recognise her until too late. Then it was too late to communicate it to you, as the only times I may reach you are in moments of unconsciousness, like this. Forgive me."

"For what? What is Rissena, that she's so much more dangerous than any other Dark Lord?" asked Will. Wasn't he the Watchman? Wasn't it his job – more than that – his responsibility, to see the weakness of the Dark and exploit it? It was more than a choice, it was a birthright.

"She has found a way to appear in the world. She can become flesh, or at least seem to become it."

"Oh." Now Will understood. There was no way around this. He sighed in defeat. "Mithros, you are a god of this world. You see things that I don't. Will you tell me how much being blasted out of time will hurt? It's just, I want to be ready."

Mithros looked kindly at him. "Don't call me god, Watchman. You are as godly as I am. It is a pity that you were born a man, and godhood passed you by. You would have made a worthy god." He looked away. "I am sorry Old One. I foresee that you will endure much pain before you are allowed to leave this world."

"Oh. Well. At least it won't last forever."

"To you, it will seem that way." Mithros hesitated. "Watchman, your efforts have helped direct this world towards the Light, and there is still much hope for us. But I see always more of the Dark in the future. I do not want to ask this of you, but when you find your way back into time – will you return to Tortall? Just in case."

"Just in case," Will agreed. Then his eyes seemed to age. "But it will be a long while before I am able to return. Years will pass. I cannot imagine how many. Perhaps as few as two or three. Perhaps as many as a hundred. If I am not in time – you know that I am sorry."

"Watchman, my brother, the Light and the Dark are two inexorable elements of a whole. This means our struggle, as agents, is eternal. Sometimes we cannot fight alone. Only call to me, and I will come. Farewell." In a rare burst of emotion, Mithros embraced Will. Then he stood back.

"Be strong."


	15. Nothing Not Wrong

Chapter 15

Will's prison cell came slowly into shape. He blinked away the last of his sleepiness and struggled into a sitting position.

And found himself face to face with Rissena the Relentless. She stood in the darkest corner of the windowless cell. Seeing that he was awake, she smiled, her bright white teeth the only solid feature he could discern about her; the rest being swathed in shadow.

"We meet again, Will Stanton."

"We do. But I thought you could take no physical shape in this word, so I don't understand why. Enlighten me."

"I am the embodiment of the Dark. There are loopholes in the High Magic, so long as you know where to look."

"Why did you bring me here?" asked Will, changing topic swiftly, not wanting to hear about the successes of the Dark.

"To keep you out of the way, of course, and put an end to your mischief." Rissena of the Dark answered. " And to satisfy my curiosity."

"What could I tell you that you don't already know about the Light?"

"Nothing. But about yourself? There is so much and so little time."

"You want to know about humans? Why ask me, when there are billions?"

"Because my curiosity is specific. How many men have left their worlds and families behind to persevere, alone, on some fool's quest? I was never human. Tell me why you came to Tortall, to an all but conquered world, to do combat with the unstoppable Dark?"

"It is my duty. There must be balance, there must be justice. Men must live their lives as they want, not as the Dark dictates."

"That is the Watchman speaking. Where is Will Stanton when I want to talk to him? What does man know of duty to an unknown world, a foreign people? What would a human want? No man meddles with the doings of the Dark but you."

Will shrugged. "You want to talk to the man behind the Watchman? How poetic. I don't know if you can. Maybe they're inseparable now." He thought for a moment. "Honestly? Maybe I was curious too. The promise of another world, a chance no man before had had? A problem to be mended, that only I might mend? I think that I was bored. I knew adventure, and danger, and when the Dark was vanquished, it was all but gone. Maybe my human pride was stung. Who can say now?"

"That is very human, to think only of one's self. A pity. Now you are here, and with no way back, the only thing to look forward to: your impending doom, and the only thing to brood on: how you accomplished nothing here."

"Doom? Have you forgotten, I'm still the Watchman. You can't kill an Old One. Doom does not exist for me."

"Have _you_ forgotten? You are still human, and while you may not die, you will suffer, and it will be such a suffering that you shall wish you might die in order to end it."

Will felt something cold slide over his heart, like a shadow, and knew that this was fear. For a long time he had outrun it and entertained lasting freedom from it, but now it came again, and he did not welcome it.

"So I will suffer. It doesn't mean anything. Contrary to your opinion, I have accomplished the ruin of the Dark. You won't last long, even with me gone."

Rissena of the Dark made a hollow, rasping sound that faintly resembled laughter. It chilled Will to the bone, but he kept his face carefully blank.

"Is the Duke of Conté dead? No? Is he in any kind of trouble? Is he under suspicion? Is his title under threat? Is there a wizard greater than he, when I can supply him all the power he needs? Is there an assassination plot? Is he suddenly unpopular?" Will could feel her dark gaze on his face, and flinched, and knew that this sign of weakness was a victory for her. "Last time I checked, he was still the king's nephew, the crown-prince's cousin, a powerful sorcerer, young, in good health and full of ambition. Did I miss something? Did you observe some flaw that I overlooked? Maybe he has a zit?"

There was a short silence as Will thought and thought. "You forgot," he said finally, "that Duke Roger has tried many times to kill the prince, and failed."

"That is nothing, when he has his whole life in which to succeed. No, Will Stanton, I want to hear what _you_ did to further the cause of the Light."

"I…" _What have I done? What could I have done?_

It was as though Will had been standing on the brink of a terrible abyss, and lost his balance.

_I scared Duke Roger, but only a little. I took a letter from Alanna to her brother. I couldn't save Jamie Bone but I – I saved Jonathan! But I won't be there to save him again. And there will be other times. I didn't eliminate the threat. I didn't do what I was meant to do. The one thing I was meant to do, above all things._

Sour realisation settled in the empty pit of his stomach.

_I failed._

"Correct, Watchman," said Rissena of the Dark. "I think I'll go now. My duke wanted to talk to you anyway."

Like smoke, Rissena of the Dark seemed to lift away from her body. Except it wasn't her body anymore, it was Duke Roger's. Will finally understood that she had been using his body to manifest in the material world. But the revelation was meaningless to him now.

"Hello, Will Stanton," said Duke Roger pleasantly. "Didn't I say you'd end up getting what you deserved? Didn't I say you'd end up dying somehow? You never were a match for my master."

But Will didn't hear him. He had fallen into dejection. He had misjudged, misinterpreted the whole situation. He had been so stupid.

"Shall I tell you how you're going to die?" Duke Roger asked, without expecting or wanting an answer. "You'll die alone, in front of a hostile crowd, on Hangman's Hill. And it will hurt so much."

_Hanging._ Will was too numb to feel horror.

"And you want to know what else? I'll be laughing at you, every second that you're being strangled. And then? Then I'll be King. And there'll be nothing you can do."

"What's to stop me killing you now?" asked Will.

Duke Roger laughed, his handsome face twisted into the epitome of evil. "What makes you think you can? All your godly powers are gone. Gone, for as long as you wear those chains."

"What?" Will glanced at his arms and for the first time saw and felt the white chains that glowed dimly around them, binding not just his movements, but his power also. Will clenched his hands into fists, and found his anger had burned out and become a choking, miserable ash. Will sighed, his fists uncurling uselessly. He was too tired to hate and too weak to fight.

Duke Roger noticed none of this, and spoke into the silence, enamoured with the sound of his own voice and with the plot that had outwitted his foe:

"My master explained it to me. Forged out of the High Magic, or something like that. Something not even you can overcome. You're helpless."

_Helpless._

"Isn't it wonderful? For a day or two I even worried that you were invincible, the incarnation of Mithros or some rubbish. But a true god wouldn't have any weaknesses. You're just an elite human being. And I want so badly to hurt you, Will Stanton, you have no idea how hard it is to wait."

Will looked at him dully, "I don't care," he said.

"But I care." Duke Roger replied. "And my master gave me the honour of being the one to bestow this curse on you. To keep you occupied, she said, until the time of your demise. Not that it looks like you need much occupying. She's already broken you."

Will had no time to react to the glowing orange magic as it struck him. But he soon wished he had.

–

This time when Will woke, he was unchained, but standing in total darkness. Total darkness, except for one shining mirror. Somehow it repelled him as much as it appealed.

He turned to walk towards it – in all this darkness his one instinct was to head towards light – and found his muscles strained more with every step he took than he had expected. In fact, he could feel his joints creaking as they ground uncomfortably against each other, and his shoulders clicked inexplicably whenever he tried to stand straighter.

And when he looked at the mirror, its shining outline looked hazy.

Then he looked _in_to the mirror.

His mouth opened in a scream that might once have shaken windows, but was now only a hissing moan.

Will Stanton was an Old One. He knew what it was to age and he knew what it was to know and understand things that the oldest men couldn't hope to know or understand.

But he had never known what it meant to _be_ old. To have the body of the old. To live in the body of the old. To _look_ old and _feel_ that his body was old.

In the mirror, Will Stanton was old.

His hair was sparse and grey, his shoulders were stooped with the burden of decades, his skin was pale and pocked and his face hung in wrinkles over his skull. Now he understood why his muscles were so fatigued, why his bones creaked when he moved, why he felt so inflexible and weary.

Will Stanton had been turned inside out. This was the Old One, as he was mentally, except now it was no longer mental age, for he was aged physically. And Will Stanton had never been so scared in his life.

He looked deeper into the mirror. His eyes were filmed over with a milky white fluid. His stomach sagged outward. He looked so small. He'd never been a big person, but there, in that mirror, Will felt like he'd collapsed in on himself.

He could see the blue veins in his hand sticking out more prominently than they ever had in his youth.

_His youth._

Where had it gone?

The reality struck Will with relief and panic. This was another illusion. A nightmare curse that Duke Roger had put on him.

But at the same time Will knew this wasn't just an illusion; it was his future, and it was his present. One day he would look that old, on the outside, perhaps when he was seventy or eighty years old. One day this ghastly vision of himself would be the man he woke up to everyday. But this was also the man he was now. This was who he was inside. This was his _mind_, in human form. This was the Old One, the creature he had been born, that had resided in him all his life.

_I am hideous._


	16. Do Not Stand At My Grave And Cry

Chapter 16

Will opened his eyes. His world was shuddering and rocking from side to side. He sat up. This was difficult, because his wrists were bound in the white chains behind his back. When he was up, however, he found himself wishing he had never woken.

He was in a small wooden cart, drawn by an old horse, vaguely familiar– and then Will recognised him: it was old Bantanamo, stolen out of his stable at the palace to make the mood twice more ominous. Will's heart sank. On either side of him were seated armed guards.

Looking forwards, he saw, perhaps a hundred feet away, his destination. The gallows.

Will stared blankly for some moments, uncomprehending. That was when they entered the crowd.

The throng screamed and pulsed like a living beast, and a little boy with sandy-blonde hair threw a rotten apple at Will. This seemed to signal the start of a competition, because suddenly the air was thick with out-dated food and insults. Will sat subdued, for once in his life at a total loss as to what he ought to do. These chains that bound him were chains forged of the High Magic, and against the High Magic Will Stanton was powerless. He had been out-thought, out-manoeuvred. It had infuriated him, but now it made him despair.

_Have I lost?_

–

Alanna knew something was wrong even before Aram Sklaw had demanded a search of the palace for his missing apprentice. She had known when Will had not returned that night, at the time he had said he would. Will was never late. It was impossible, unheard-of, for him to be late. When he didn't have enough time, he made it. So it was inconceivable for him not to be there when he'd said he would be.

And when Stefan came to find her at breakfast, she knew by his shifty way of walking that something had happened. _Was_ happening.

"Will Stanton," he said, keeping his voice very soft, "is in a lotta trouble. Ye need t' get a pardon, from yer buddy th' Prince or somesuch."

"What?! How bad could the trouble be? I will not use Jonathan to help him get out of some silly scrape!" Alanna was outraged. How could Will expect her to do that?

"I don't think ye understand, squire," said Stefan, trying to keep his voice calm and reasonable. "Somethin' is wrong with Will. He's lost his Gift or whatever it was he had. Coz he ain't usin' it let me tell ye, an' he's halfway t' th' gallows already."

"_What?_" asked Alanna, her voice deathly quiet now.

"Ye heard me. He'll be hanged today, this hour, if nothin' is done."

Alanna stood, breakfast forgotten. "Does George know? Tell him to delay the hanging for as long as he can. What's the crime? Tell Aram Sklaw."

"If George can do anythin', ye can bet he's already doin' it. Laughing Nell's got that covered. Will's bein' done for theft and assault or some bollocks like that. No one knows who's pullin' th' damned strings neither. There's no one talkin' an' no one t' buy off."

Minutes later Aram Sklaw and Prince Jonathan had been notified, and Alanna had them all flying for Hangman's Hill, where all criminals died.

–

Someone was reading out his charges as Will was pushed up the gallows' steps. He heard 'condemned to death by hanging', then slid on a decaying peach and crashed down. The guards shoved him the rest of the way up to the platform, and the hangman took it from there, snatching at his collar and dragging Will to his feet.

As Will stumbled upright, he caught a good look of the hangman's face.

Rissena of the Dark smiled sweetly back at him. She had used the hangman's body to materialise. "Good morning, Will Stanton, I hope you had a pleasant last night's sleep. I'll be your executioner for today. Do feel free to have an excruciating experience."

All at once his depression vanished. It was something about her cockiness, her certainty, that triggered the change. He could almost feel his spirit rekindling, soaring. He grinned roguishly at Rissena of the Dark.

"You think you've won here, in this country, on the battlefield of this world. But today, this isn't a victory for you. You don't know it, but the seeds are sown and your time here is slipping away as we speak. Consider yourself beaten."

"Will Stanton, you're forgetting who is about to destroy whom. This noose was forged especially for people like you and me, out of the High Magic, so that men could dictate their own futures. Today your future looks grim."

The noose was tossed over his neck and pulled taut around his flesh, but Will wasn't afraid or doubtful or even lonely anymore. Rissena of the Dark, at his ear, whispered; "And since you mentioned it, I'm not seeing any seeds anywhere." And departed, to winch the hangman's rope up, so that Will would have the slowest, most agonising execution available to mankind.

Will felt the cord tighten around his throat and knew it was almost time. At the edge of the crowd, he thought he heard a shout, but couldn't quite make it out.

Will grunted, his throat constricting painfully as he was hoisted, swinging, off the ground. He kicked uselessly with his legs, trying in vain to reach the ground. Kicking his life away. He could feel panic, his body's instinctive reaction, creeping over him, and he struggled.

Higher. The crowd were cheering and booing and shrieking for him to die. Will didn't want to die. He started to gasp for breath, the rope biting into his throat, choking him. If only it would end–

"How does it feel, Old One?"

It was Rissena of the Dark, at his side once more, to taunt him.

Tiny tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes. He didn't want to cry, but he couldn't help it. He didn't even know how they got there.

"I'm impressed, I really am, you're going where no Old One has gone before, or at least where no Old One has so painfully gone before."

He wanted to tell her to shut up, but his throat, his throat, it hurt so much. A gurgling cry tore itself from his mouth.

"If it's any consolation," said Rissena conversationally, "you're putting on a very entertaining performance for all these people. They're loving it. And your lips are turning blue, so you must be at least half-dead now."

_I'll – I'll be back._

"No, you won't," Rissena assured him, "at least not in time to reverse the damage the Dark will have wrought. But don't let that concern you, please, focus on the pain."

The pain. It was all-consuming. His body burned with it. His throat felt like it had been broken in two. His eyes wanted to pop out of their sockets, and he couldn't breathe, hadn't been able to breathe for an eternity at least.

"Will!" someone screamed.

Will craned his head down, wincing as the rope bit deeper into his skin. It was Laughing Nell.

_It's OK_, he tried to tell her, but he couldn't force the words out of his swollen mouth, could barely think them. _Don't cry for me._

And there – was that Alanna? Was she crying too? And with her – his vision blurred, but he did recognise them – George the Rogue and Jonathan the King-To-Be and was it? No, not ageing Aram?

"Rissena." Will croaked. "These are the seeds."

And then Captain Aram stood in front of Will, so that Will saw him clearly and could not mistake him for another. He had climbed up on the scaffolding. To say goodbye? Rissena was amused, surprised but still amused. She let the scene play out.

"I know you're honest, laddie." Aram Sklaw said, his voice so quiet no one else but Will could hear it breaking. "I know it."

Then he grabbed Will's kicking legs and yanked him down. His neck broke instantly. The torment finished.

Will's body looked awful; Rissena of the Dark had not lied – his mouth was blue, his eyes protruded revoltingly from beneath their closed lids and his throat was bruised red and grey, in the pattern of the rope that had throttled him.

Will should have been dead, but as guards lifted him off the gallows for burial, and Rissena stood bursting with anger that her fun had been spoiled, and Aram Sklaw walked beside the body, a hand took his.

Aram Sklaw looked down. Will Stanton looked back at him. He felt very weak and very old. He knew he was almost out of time.

"Goodbye, sir."

The guards carrying Will dropped him in their terror. Laughing Nell and Alanna reached him then, but he was already fading.

"I did what I had to do." He could hear Merriman's voice in his head, calm, clear, as it had always been. Will relaxed.

And then there was nothing left, nothing but his clothes, lying empty and as frail as leaves in autumn.

Above, unnoticed and almost invisible in the daylight, something that might have been likened to a shooting star exploded its way out of the world, out of time itself.

Next to the gallows' platform, in front of the cart that had driven Will to his fate, Bantanamo slid down to lie on his side and quietly died; his lease on life elapsed.

Laughing Nell's knees hit the cobblestones of the street, her fists following numbly, and screamed wordlessly. When she lost her breath, she sobbed, staring at her bloodied knuckles.

The Rogue caught her wrists as she was about to strike the ground again. He stared at her, slack-jawed and incredibly moved; the sole witness to her madness. His eyes begged her to communicate her grief, so that he could understand and share her burden.

But Laughing Nell could not explain the madness, or the anguish that had induced it, could only give voice to the words bubbling, trickling through her mind, words that hardly made sense to her anymore:

"Damn! Damn! Damn! He always told me never t' worry! He said he couldn't die!"

"Sometimes when they are touched by the Gods, men think that." Prince Jonathan said.

"Will wasn't touched by the Gods," Alanna answered, and wouldn't explain. She knew now, deep in the recesses of her soul, beyond the faintest doubt, that all Duke Roger of Conté's endeavours would be destroyed, and she would be their destroyer. She blamed Duke Roger for Will's death. Everything bad or unfair that had happened to her always ended up connected with him. She would get her proof, and then Duke Roger of Conté would be sorry.

–

Duke Roger heard the shouts of the gallows' crowd go silent, and then Delia, who had been sitting in front of him, morphed into his master, as Rissena of the Dark materialised before him.

"Is it done, master?" he asked, "Is Will Stanton dead?"

"He is gone, for now," was his answer, "However an Old One, such as Will Stanton is, can never die, just be blasted out of time."

"Master?"

"You must prepare for his return."

**The End.**


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